(A)Musings by Heather

Climbing Past

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 16:22:00 +0000

We had the most beautiful, charming, perfect climbing tree in the side yard of my childhood home.

This tree was a very tall evergreen, that grew next to our house – it was huge, the tree. You got to the lower branches by climbing up a wooden compost box. In the spring, the box and tree was surrounded by a sea of daffodils I always loved to cut, marveling that the stems always made little squeaky noises when I snipped them. We mostly had oak trees in our yard and neighborhood, which you could climb – but not as well as you could this tree, which rose up well beyond any other tree in the surrounding neighborhood.

Tall and full, and a perfect shady spot within the branches on hot summer days. It was a favorite spot with the neighborhood kids, too. I spent many an hour in that tree reading and/or munching on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, listening to the wind hissing through the needles and watching all the different bugs climb up it, going about their little lives. I also loved popping the sap bubbles in the skin of the bark – the bigger, the better. The stickier you were when you came down from the tree, the better.

For some reason, I always thought of the tree as "Edward" in my head, despite the fact he was actually a "Douglas", our state tree, actually.

I could never quite get myself to climb up past a certain point, as it was where the wind would grab the tree and make it rock back and forth; even my more daring friends in the neighborhood – like the boys – didn't like going up much higher, either, for the same reason...Edward was a very tall tree, and he was very peaceful -- but it didn't quell the fear that snaked into me at that invisible line.

But I always felt angry with myself for being scared. My fear was that I'd fall – except I knew I wouldn't because the branches were so dense. It was also very wavy – even on days when there was almost no wind on the ground. But I'd always get to the one spot and feel like I absolutely could not go any higher.

Then, one day, one pretty, summer day with a turquoise sky puffed here and there with cotton ball clouds, I sat at that same place trying to will myself to go higher. I felt like a baby, a wuss. Like I was a total and complete chicken. It didn't matter that nobody else had. We always taunted each other about that, but nobody seemed willing to go much higher.

I'd spent much of the afternoon woven into the branches, reading. Probably a Nancy Drew mystery or, at least some book I'd gotten from the library (I was perhaps 11 or, at the most 12). I felt the top of the tree beckoning me as it always did, and I sat, staring up through the branches, looking at the sunshine sparkling down through the needles.

I always had the sense that Edward was making a promise he wouldn't drop me...but I still stayed afraid of the height and the possibility I might fall, somehow missing all the branches and plummeting straight to the ground. Of course that wouldn't happen...but there was a first time for everything.

But that afternoon as I stared upwards, I started thinking that maybe – just maybe – I could do it. So I stood and climbed up a few more feet. The wind picked up and Edward rocked back and forth, creaking and whispering. My breath caught, but I climbed up a few more branches.

I got up maybe another five feet and looked down; the compost box looked very far away and small in my distorted perspective mind; to me, in that moment, it was no bigger than a child's toy boxcar for an electric train. The wind pushed at the tree again, and again Edward creaked and whispered. I climbed a little higher, noticing the branches were getting smaller. Would they support my weight? Of course they would. But...but what if they didn't? What if I actually misjudged them – ?

I looked up; swaying back and forth it almost looked like Edward was waving at the clear sun above, which danced over the iridescence of the bark and caught the crystallized, dried sap. Ants and bugs crawled along, like people hurrying down a busy city street, minds focused on their individual tasks. It was like that, I thought – a little city. The tree was full of compartments and tiny burrows which acted like little apartments and homes, in the branches and trunk – all the way from the top to well down into the earth and roots.

I'd seen bird's nests, too, which were often above the "safety line". We always left them alone, but there were a few springs when they were low enough where we could, from a safe side of the tree, peer into a nest and watch the little eggs and babies, much like we got to do when a robin built a nest in the bush outside of my brother's window.

A larger gust of wind, louder creaking and shushing. It was as if Edward was testing me, coaxing me. Fear twinged in me, making my stomach go cold and my heart leap into my throat, rapping at it as if on fast-forward.

Maybe, I thought, this was high enough. I was already higher than I'd gone before...so maybe I could go in steps – ?

Big puff of breeze, big creaking, big hissing of the wind through the branches and needles. I don't know if Edward was encouraging or chastising – or both.

No, I thought, I'm not a baby anymore. I can do this.

I climbed a little higher, my path a bit harder to navigate as the branches were narrower and thicker. My hands and the bottoms of my bare feet were dotted and smeared with sap, as were my legs and clothes. I had taken my time climbing, and the sun had arced further to the right, warm on my face, scented with pine and freshness.

The bending and swaying was far more pronounced by now, and I was well past the "safety line". I looked over to my left at the sound of voices, and saw friends playing in the street (we lived on a triad of cul-de-sacs). They were far below, and I willed them to look up and see me, but they didn't. Even if they had looked up, I would have been hidden by the branches.

I looked up again, and I was still a good ways from the top. By now I could see well into our backyard and even over the house behind us and to the street beyond. More wind, more creaking, more whispering, another jump and leap of heart and stomach, more tightening of my grip around Edward's branches.

It was quite warm by then. Although there was a thicker number of branches, they were sparser in needles and miniature offshoot branches, and therefore not as much shade from the sun. But there was still quite a bit. It was also bending towards the warmer part of the afternoon, anyway, when things got sleepy and the cicadas started singing. I watched a dragonfly hum past and on its errand; birds sang in the trees, but they, too, were getting quieter as the warmth of the late summer afternoon worked itself into the nooks and crannies of the trees and flowers. It was still comfortable in the shade, but it was warmer and the type where it would be easy to slip into a doze out in the back yard, book tented on my chest.

And then I was there – as high as I really could go. I had gotten there without even really paying attention to the fact I had! I'd climbed all the way to the top, higher than anyone else in the neighborhood!

The tree swayed quite a bit, giving the impression it was almost like being on a trebuchet (well...not quite, of course). I saw my mother in our back yard, weeding, my little brother playing with his toys near by. Scattered over the lawn were plastic bowls and an inflatable pool, now only half-heartedly filled with air and water – remnants from a water fight the day before. A plane buzzed overhead and the cicadas sang.

I realized it wasn't so bad – plus the view was magnificent. I could see over the houses and down across the town of Corvallis, a hamlet-like town that houses Oregon State University. There was a haze in the distance and around the rim of horizon from controlled field burning. Much of the land that surrounds Corvallis is farmland – both commercial and local farmers that cater to the organic-saturated culture of older and newer hippies that lived in the surrounding areas, as well as the general, run-of-the-mill everyday families. Oregon State uses much of the land, too, as it began as an agricultural school in its early years, growing into forestry and engineering; Linus Pauling graduated from there.

But it wasn't those things I pondered as I sat, comfortably belted into a sturdy seated position by Edward's upper branches, looking out over my queendom. I could see for miles, it felt; the rolling hills of the Willamette valley rolled out before and around me; Corvallis sits nestled into the foothills of the Coast Range.

The afternoon droned on, cicadas lulling sleepiness in on their hypnotic, rhythmic chirping. It had grown in intensity as the warmth of the afternoon grew. I could hear my little brother, who was, at that time, about 3 or 4, calling for me. "Hair! Hair – ! Hair - ? ...Hedder – !" (He still calls me "Hair")

He disappeared out of my line of sight, and I heard him calling me, his voice floating out of my open bedroom and bathroom windows; faintly, I could hear him calling as he ran up the stairs, then as he looked around upstairs. Eventually I saw him reappear in the backyard, shouting to our mother that he couldn't find me. She put a comforting arm around him, likely saying I was off in the neighborhood somewhere. It was not a town where there were many such worries. Technically I was supposed to let her know where I'd gone, but I rarely did if I was within that neighborhood as it was a given.

I thought about calling down to him, but up there, with the grand view and the quiet – I wanted to keep it to myself. Besides, I knew he'd want to climb up to me, which meant I'd have to get down and I didn't want to do that just yet. I was so relaxed (though some twinges of fear still came with the bigger gusts), I wanted to just stay up there.

Sunshine warm on my face, Edward creak-rock-whispering, I closed my eyes – and fell asleep.

I don't know how long I slept, but when I awoke I was thirsty, so I climbed back down, becoming even more sap-laden than before. I went back inside to get a bottle of Coca-Cola – back then they were still glass – hoping for the ever-elusive letter "E" to win the gigando prize in the game they had presented us all summer long where we had to spell a phrase with their name in it; we had dozens of letters, but nobody in our entire neighborhood could get that "E". We began to suspect it possibly didn't even exist. I cracked the top off and found another repeated letter. I tossed it into the can where we had all of the others and went to seek out my next form of entertainment.

Later, when I went over to my friend's house across the street, I told her I'd climbed to the top of the tree. She didn't believe me – so I said, "I can prove it!"

A year older than I was, she considered herself more worldly. She followed me out, still not believing me...and so, without hesitation, I climbed to the top again and called down, "Come up!"

She hesitated, calling up, "I don't want to...." I was more than a little smugly satisfied and climbed back down. It was always fun to show off at that age. I continued to climb to the top after that, only sticking to the lower tiers when I was with friends, or if my little brother were nearby.

Sadly, about three or four years later, we found out that Edward had become infested with beetles to the point where they could not be exterminated; if left that way, they would spread to all the other pine trees in the area, and he would die a slow death. We had to make the choice to cut him down; the entire neighborhood mourned the loss, as he'd been our friend for so many years – as he had been to a generation of children before us when the neighborhood was established in the 1960s and 70s.

I still miss that tree, and it makes me sad thinking about it now. I've never found another climbing tree that matched Edward, and I think of that afternoon often, because it seems like such a pinnacle moment of summer, childhood and triumph.

It's also one I think of when I feel/hear myself thinking I can't about something, and I realize that if a child who wasn't terribly fond of heights (i.e. terrified) could climb to the top of the world (or so it felt) one summer afternoon despite that – right past a self-imposed, imaginary "safety-line", I can as an adult, too.

In my mind's eye, I can see Edward shining upwards, sunshine falling down over his needles as he climbed into the sky, wind whispering through his branches, picking up the scent of sap and summer, as if he still lives in his spot of home, watching over his neighborhood like an old guardian providing shelter and safety and shade for picnics and reading. Maybe he does.

In a way, I suppose, he was the best kind of teacher of all – what Tom Brown Jr, a naturalist, refers to as a "coyote teacher" – one who provides just enough answers to create more curiosity and an environment for the student to learn on their own, while still providing support. Looking up through Edward's branches I saw exactly that – answers to my questions of how on earth could I ever reach the top?! – but he left it up to me to find the path and my own determination. Which I did.

And I know that if I had fallen – he most definitely would have caught me, helped me up and shooed me back on my way up.

Not Edward, but very, very similar

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 16:52:00 +0000

It's Because the Cat Wasn't Wearing Electric Blue Sunglasses

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 23:23:00 +0000

For reference to the title, see the March 23 entry: When a Dolphin Laughs at You, You Know Change Is Needed.

More 'Shroomies, Steak, Garlic Mashed Potatoes

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 02:56:00 +0000

Steak was broiled last night; seasoned with red wine, sea salt, pepper. Cooked at 4:30 each side.

Potatoes: Obvy. Boil, mash, mix with butter, garlic, salt, pepper to taste.

'Shroomies: Leftover Baby Bellas and buttons I didn't make the other night. Seasoned with sesame lime salad dressing, sea salt, pepper, lime juice, olive brine, nutmeg, paprika. Also: kalamata olives, sliced in half, one small red onion, quartered. Cooked in a square baking dish for 20 minutes.

After finishing, sprinkled with bleu cheese.

Basically -- throw together whatever the hell sounds good, or might sound good, cook it, try it. Could be a colossal failure or success.

Served with Lagunitas The Hairy Eyeball Ale.

Oh --

Please Note: Best not to drop your phone in the mashed potatoes as you take the picture. Makes for a starchy cleanup likely not covered by any warranty, extended or otherwise.

When a Dolphin Laughs at You, You Know Change is Needed

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 19:26:00 +0000

I have what's called an FSA -- flexible spending account -- that I can put towards medical things that are usually out of pocket. I've generally never had a problem spending it over the year, as I used to go to acupuncture more often. But now that I've had my gall bladder out, I've been much healthier, and I haven't gone as much.

The fiscal year for the FSA ends on March 31 and resets on April 1, and I realized I had a lot of money left on it. And if I don't spend it -- the company gets to keep it. There was no way I was going to allow them to get all that dough, especially since it's my money to begin with.

What to do?

The solution was to go to Kaiser to get a new prescription for my glasses and choose several new ones. And that I did -- I got four new pairs of glasses, and it was so fun to get to choose more than one. I usually wear contacts, but I do wear my glasses every night, and I do get kind of tired of them. I also got some prescription sunglasses (which I've always thought I should have, but have never gotten) as well as some really nice non-prescription ones.

The FSA site says that non-prescription sunglasses are "potentially eligible" if they get a letter from my eye doctor stating that I need them. So I wrote to him and asked if he might do just that for me, as my thought was that anything I got at Kaiser would be far better than anything I could get at your everyday, garden-variety drug store -- and these are my eyes, after all. Have to keep them safe! Right away on Monday morning I received a reply from him saying that my medical record stated I was "light sensitive", and that he would therefore "prescribe" over-the-counter sunglasses as a necessity.

w00t! as they say in the gaming world.

So I got some really nice Oakleys, which I've always wanted, and some classic Ray Ban Wayfarers. As I still had a load of money left, I then went back and bought a second pair of the same Oakleys, reasoning that if something happened to my first ones, I'd have a backup pair already in place. I'd likely never have that much money left over to spend again, and so since I did this time -- I may as well use it up as much as I could. I also got a pair of cute white ones by Guess. All polarized and very nice.

I had a pair of black Wayfarers (these are a dark almost tortoiseshell brown) that I bought when I was in the Air Force when they were on sale. But, a few months later, they were stolen. I hope whoever took them got a lot more use out of them than I did.

When I was about 12 or so, I had a pair of electric blue, cheap, Wayfarer-style sunglasses. I LOVED them, and thought they were really cool (well, I was 12. It was the 80s....)

That summer, my family and I took a trip to Hawaii. One of the things we did was go to Sea World, and one of the shows we watched was with dolphins. It was in a below-ground room built so that you could see below the water as well as above it for the tricks they performed.

While we were waiting for the show to begin, I went down to the tank to watch the dolphins swim around. I was so excited. Dolphins! Close up! One of them stopped and looked at me, and I swear it had an amused expression on its face. Then it began making its squeaking-cluck noises and its head kept bobbing up and down.

I got the distinct feeling I was amusing it somehow. That it was -- laughing at me. Why? I wondered. My -- glasses, perhaps? My totally cool, electric blue Wayfarers? Surely not.

I took them off, and the dolphin stopped laughing, but still continued to watch me -- still with the deeply-amused expression (I remember also thinking how shiny and black its eye was, and how intelligent it seemed). I put the glasses back on. It started laughing again. Took them off -- laughter stopped. Put them back on -- laughter. Finally I took them off and slipped them into my pocket. After a moment of watching me a bit more, the dolphin swam away.

I trudged back up to where my parents were and said, glumly, "I want a new pair of sunglasses. The dolphin just laughed at mine."

I got a new pair at the gift shop.

The electric blue ones got tossed into a drawer when I got home, and eventually they just kind of disappeared. I felt no loss. I still think of those glasses sometimes and laugh as I'm perusing them at Rite Aid.

The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau meets What Not to Wear.

So at least these are all real and would likely get, I think, approval from that dolphin, my friendly, marine personal shopper. We know they're highly intelligent, but who knew they also have fashion sense?

Salmon, 'Shroomies, Asparagus.

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 02:11:00 +0000

Dinner tonight:

Organic baked salmon from New Seasons, which I then braised with sesame-lime salad dressing after warming up gently.

Topping:

Mushrooms (crimini, baby bella, button, shiitake) seasoned with minced ginger, capers, blueberries, tarragon-infused vodka, olive brine, paprika, nutmeg, lemon juice, sea salt and freshly-ground pepper.

Asparagus:

Roasted; seasoned with sea salt, freshly-ground pepper.

Don't ask me quantities, I just go with what I know is good and sounds tasty. Minced ginger came to about 3 Tbs sprinkled; capers, maybe 2. Enough seasonings to enhance but not make you go ptooie and frown because it's too strong.

Served with a side of beer and rosemary crispbread crackers by 34 Degrees.

Bake mushrooms and blueberries at 475 for five minutes, then put in asparagus. Bake for another ten. Take out mushrooms and blueberries to "rest" (make sure they have a blankie and teddy bear); broil asparagus for 2 minutes.

Serve.

Then, as the esteemed Cooking Asshole (www.cookingasshole.com) and Weird Al Yankovic would say: Eat it.

I Knew What I Meant. Really.

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 21:52:00 +0000

Many years ago, my indoctrination to beer was on Coors, Heineken -- decent enough -- and Mickey's...that's what we had in the house, and I was allowed a sip or two. Later it was Henry Weindards, and, whilst in the Air Force, it was Whatever Else Someone Was Buying and/or Was Cheap. Translation = Miller Lite.

I have, of course, since widened my taste and selection. I am from Portland, after all. They say you know you're in Seattle because it's bookstore, coffee shop, bookstore, coffee shop; you know you're in Portland because it's bookstore, coffee shop, micro-/craft brewery...bookstore, coffee shop, micro-/craft brewery....

(Side story here -- I have two friends from Minnesota who moved out here to Oregon and say those above -- Bud, Miller, Coors -- is all you can really get in wide distribution; but, now, after having lived in Portland for so many years and drinking "real" beer, they now say they "can't drink that other stuff" anymore!)

But I digress.

So, roll back maybe 15 years ago. My family -- my mother, my brother and me (my parents were divorced by then) -- it's possible my best friend was there, too -- were in a McMenamins restaurant.

(Now, remember, I was a neophyte to this whole beer-type thing, and I was most definitely over 21 by then, though by only two or three years). I had the menu, and, on the back, they had their beers/beer types printed. Given acronyms often have pronunciations (NASA, UNICEF, SYSCO...), I piped up to the server, "What's an 'eepah'? I've always wanted to know."

He blinked at me, note pad and pen paused in his hands. "A what?"

"An eepah," I replied. "You have stout, red and eepah. I understand what a stout is -- but what's an eepah?"

He burst into laughter. "It's 'eye pee aye'," he said, when he finally managed to collect his wits back about himself. "It stands for 'India Pale Ale'."

I felt everything grow still in me as my body threw its entire effort of existence into making every nodule of my skin turn dark red; I could even feel my scalp get tight. "Oh," I said, grinning -- but somewhere between rather embarrassed and mortified. "Ha ha." (I'd noticed the periods between the letters, but it still didn't click). "I'd like to try that, please."

He took our order and walked away, still laughing, muttering, "Eepah -- !" as he walked away. As he went back to the kitchen area, I heard him say to his friends, "Oh -- you gotta hear this." (Somewhere, he's probably still telling that story.)

Fast forward several years, to another McMenamis here in Portland. Picture it -- a beautiful sunny summer day, a lovely vine-sheltered patio, good friends, good ambiance, good humor, good spirits, good food, good beer. "I really like dark beers," I said to my friend. "The darker the better." (Not so much now; I'm more of an 'eepah' kind of gal, though reds and dark ales are swell, too). A server walked by with a tray of drinks. "Like that one," I said, pointing to a pint glass filled with a dark brown substance and topped with a creamy frothy head. "What is that?" I asked.

The server (another guy, actually), having heard my comment, blinked, and said, "It's our root beer."

Reinfusing with the same blush as described above I said, "Oh, haha. I knew that. I was just testing you...."

"Right," he said, laughing.

(My brother and father and best friend, as the good enemies that they are, have never let me live either of those things down, given I made the mistake of telling them about the root beer, and having them present with the 'eepah' fiasco).

I'm proud to say I'm far better-schooled now (thankfully).

At least I didn't ask what the "ab-vee" content was.

Section 60

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 18:56:00 +0000

    The day looks overcast, warm and muggy. The grass is stiff-looking, patched with green and sandy brown, the colors of thirst from a hot summer, or perhaps a warm and dry spring. A camellia tree, leaves polished emerald, bears two pink flowers, as if wanting to hang on to the last grasping idea of cooler spring, long over as the calendar has spilled into warmer days.
   There is no shade where she lies, stretched out on her belly on a dull, gray blanket, a half-empty bottle of water propped against her purse next to her, along with a denim jacket that looks far too large for her; it isn't hers. It's a token she wears of a life gone past -- what was wanted, what could have been, what was planned, and what was taken. Worn for memory and a cooler morning. Two people at the edge of the lawn -- one standing, the other, seated in a wheelchair, legs askew in the angle of loss -- look out across the expanse of white stones and grass. It's unknown if they are connected to her, but they share a similar, unspoken reason for visiting.
   Her feet are bare and crossed, the soles dusty-colored and speaking of a preference for sandals and flip-flops -- or perhaps nothing at all. Her skin is pale and clear, and the strapless, black and white polka-dot sundress she wears looks wrinkled and comfortably thin; her thick and pretty brown-gold hair is caught up in a bun to keep it off her neck and from acting like an insulating scarf in the humid heat.
   Before her, fresh with new flowers, is a white marble sentry. More wash out next to her and on and on and on into the distance -- white blurs standing at attention, posture erect and perfect and permanent. One has fluttering mylar balloons -- blue stars and circles touched with gold and yellow -- and a thick sheaf of flowers that match the flag next to it on the ground. Others also have flowers. Some have none, bringing a deeper, further sense of loneliness and quiet.
   She is still.
   Her shoulders are curved so greatly the bones are points; her head is heavy and bowed to the ground as she whispers her day and week, talks of little things, of something she saw on television she thought he would like -- a funny moment, bittersweet and unshared. She whispers to him, in the same way done at night by couples planning out lives of shared bills and frustrations, joys and explorations.
   Except now there is no answer, no innocent excitement. The future became the past, lost like a lone balloon torn loose from a storefront -- rising and rising into the void of the sky, lost in the sun, rising into emptiness.
   She whispers nothing, for nothing can be said. He cannot hear her -- though a part of her, perhaps great, perhaps small -- believes he does. Perhaps she tries to believe he's in a better place...but in such moments, in moments when the darkness of the early morning hours yawn out into a loneliness so great it suffocates, those platitudes -- ones spoken by people who bear no knowledge of how truly insipid and cruel they are -- foster nothing but jealousy, hatred and anger for the ground which now holds, like a cold and worm-ridden mistress, what she has lost. Time does not heal such wounds; it is only trickery from a protective heart and mind that creates the hope that bandages will come.
   There are no accolades for her, for anyone like her. The wives and husbands left behind to scrabble-scratch through the day, ignoring the worry and anxiety that leaves them breathless in those same dark and chasmic hours...or even in unsuspecting moments as groceries are bought, as laughing children are sent off to school. There are no medals or holidays for them, for the fiancees and girlfriends and boyfriends, the mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, cousins, friends who hold things up while the source of their worry is away in lands hot with Biblical-aged dust, ones of razor cold and caves. Lands cast with moisture-dripping jungles, or skies thick and black with the terrible, deafening bellow of B-17s and P-51 Mustangs. Neither side provides decorations for those who remain behind. It's simply expected. And it is also that weight she bears.
   It is a moment felt by someone attached to each of the headstones, somewhere at some time. A moment that broke open, raw and savage and stunning, no less so than a mortar releasing its metal-sharded violence. There was a moment when those moments at night, when the exchanges of hopeful lovers flew upwards with the shining, searing glory of fireworks on a clear, early July night, becoming impermanent and translucent. Nothing more than a ring on a finger and a collection of photographs, emails, letters and text or voicemail messages lingering on a phone.
   She lies on her stomach, whispering to him.
   The wind, hissing and shushing through the bushes and trees around her, becomes the reply. It carries the voices of all those around her, who became silent and erased. The voices of those who felt fear and homesickness, loss as thick as what is felt by those they left in an alien world of civilian clothes and traffic jams, home repairs and Friday night football, things those voices thirsted for as they crouched in armored camouflage, heavy with government-issue rations and weapons. Voices that had laughter and sorrow, flus, paper cuts and stubbed toes wrapped in curses shot towards the source of the pain. Voices that left shaving bits in the sink, refrigerator doors open, or shoes shucked at the top of the stairs. Annoyances worth gold and gems she now craves.
   But there is no voice that can speak the meaning of her moment. There are no words anywhere, just the faraway silence of the stars.

WTF Is Right....

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 17:51:00 +0000

I have no further comment to make. This article speaks for itself.

-- H

I Write Because I Can

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 00:17:00 +0000

I got into a habit of web searching and browsing on my iPhone, simply because of convenience (Getting gas and want to know the name of the actor you can't place upon seeing him in thatt show last night? Pull out the iPhone and look it up! Curious as to how to use endives as you shop in the veggie section? Pull out the iPhone and look it up!) and it just felt better than my old laptop.

But now with my new schnazzley-dazzley laptop, it's cool to use the more usual way. So now I find myself looking for reasons to use it...like writing another blog entry.

Speaking of writing, my copy of iWork came today, and I loaded it up. It's pretty slick -- hands over fist better than MS Office, especially with the features for writing documents in Pages. And my guess is the dictionary is way better than the one in Open Office, the word processing program I used on my old laptop(s). I constantly had to add things, often first causing me to pause with a "Huh?" and the need to double-check through www.dictionary.com, only to find that yes, I was correct -- "afterwards" is, indeed, a real word.

I think this weekend I will spend some time writing. Oddly, now that I have the ability to really do some work, my story children have calmed down in my head, apparently appeased by the fact they have an exit strategy, and I'm not feeling as much of a push. Perhaps I will mosey down to McMenamins, or even to something across the river in Andrew's neck of the woods. Or just stay home.

Wherever it is, it'll be indoors, given it's been crappy and chilly at best recently -- and right now it's thickly-spitting rain splattering around, driven by some really blustery wind. But that can make for a really cozy atmosphere. While at Oregon State, I loved studying in my room on stormy, rainy, soggy days as tea, Earl Grey -- HOT! (as ordered by Jean-Luc Picard on Star Trek: Next Generation) from the replicator) brewed in my coffee pot and classical music wound its way out from my speakers.

I guess right now, I'm just looking for an excuse to use my new laptop. I have a martini next to me that's asking for some dinner to go with it -- I think it's going to be smoked salmon, black beans, salsa and Spanish-style rice wrapped in a flour tortilla. I'm not all that hungry at the moment, but I have a "playdate" with my best friend around six, when we will log on through our respective PlayStations and "wham" creatures together in a game we both have and has the ability to play in a team mode online.

Then, at eight, Andrew will join us.

I have to say, that's pretty damn cool. And we can communicate via bluetooth devices. Quite the technological advancement from the Atari 2500 we used to use (and which my dad still has). Graphics back then were large squares clumped together to give the general idea of a circle, or a tank or a little man leaping over crocodiles either on foot or by swinging on a vine. Now the graphics are so, well, slick, to reuse my earlier word, they seem real.

From this:

Good Ol' Combat

And this:

And Pitfall. I can still hear the sound as he swings over the crocodiles. That old, very 80s, very computerized version of the Tarzan yell.

Oh -- and can't forget the next phase -- Mario Bros.!

To (in this same order) -- Borderlands (the game Andrew, Jane and I are playing), Gods of War II (I don't own this, but the graphics are amazing), and a game called Diablo III, the sequel to a game Andrew and I loved. They're taking their own damnably sweet time in releasing it.

(Scary-lookin' dude, but the shading and light are awesome).

And here's another from Diablo III that shows the different character classes. Quite a jump from Pitfall Harry and Mario above.

But anyhoo. I'm now hungry and ready to eat. Can't wham on an empty stomach!

-- H

Exactly the Same, Yet Completely Different

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 04:29:00 +0000

I got a brand spakin', high-falootin', schnazzy laptop yesterday.

I haven't had a really good system in years...when I moved to my new place a year and a half ago, the desktop system I had was at least two or three years old (out-of-date by techno-standards), and since then I've had hand-me-downs. The first one was an old Dell my brother was able to rescue, spiff up with as much buff and shine as you can to something that's a few years old and difficult to spruce up and I used that. Then his girlfriend, now fiancee, kindly donated the Gateway she'd used all through law school. It was definitely an upgrade to the Dell, but it has been dying a slow death (two of its four USB ports blew out last summer, and the power cord, despite my reinforcing it with athletic tape and rubber bands, developed loose wires that would make it shudder between battery and AC power) for the last several months.

I've been wanting to get a new laptop of some sort for the last two years, but my car ate that money. And this year it didn't.

So off went my tax return to Apple for a brand new -- well, refurbished, but with the same guarantee as one that just squeaked out from the factory -- MacBook pro. The rest of the return sat around to make sure I could take care of my bills and food while being out of work from surgery.

No, I did not cross to the dark side and become one of "those" people that now turn their nose up at a PC because they are now using the "hipper" and "trendier" Macs. I'm not going to be driving a biodiesel hybrid car made from densely-knit, resin-coated grass grown by monks living in the High Sierra Mountains, or vegetarian (I didn't claw my way to the top of the food chain to go back down to the bottom, as a friend of mine once said). While I am tired of the continual upkeep PCs require -- they've become far too high-maintenance/drama-oriented for my taste -- I have no complaints in using one.

What drew me to the MacBook was none of the culture surrounding the general populace that you often see using it -- it was the battery life.

I love to write. But I get tired of writing at home all the time, and have long wanted to be able to slip into a booth in one of our many microbreweries here, enjoy a pint or two -- or perhaps a coffeehouse -- and tap away, but it's hard when your laptop has a maybe-possibly-could be-if-I-squeeze-the-gerbil-a-bit-harder battery life of 20 minutes and you're chained to an AC cord. The Dell was okay as it was a longer cord, but the Gateway had one that was at least eighteen inches shorter, thus requiring me to also carry an extension cord. After watching a poor food server with a tray full of beer nearly trip on the cord -- even though I'd tucked it away as best I could -- I gave up.

This MacBook has a battery life of approximately seven hours -- and that's with using it actively. Writing, surfing (hang ten, brah), etc.Even new PCs can barely boast two or three hours. And that's usually if it's just sitting there. God forbid you should try to browse.

Seven hours! Granted, it would likely be less than that, but that's still way beyond any PC can offer. That means no AC cord for some food server to tip-toe over. No AC cord for sitting outside -- anywhere -- to write. I could go to a park, an outdoor table at one of the 52 gazillion McMenamins brewpubs/restaurants around here. My own terrace.

It also wasn't because it was the (insert angel choir singing AHHHHHHHHH!) iPhone that I got an iPhone. When my last generi-cell phone started dying, the thought of another two-year contract with another gener-phone killed me. So I spent time researching and comparing all the other smartphones out there, and I came to the conclusion the iPhone was the best of them. Besides, it was the only one to offer the kind of apps I wanted. It had nothing to do with it being an Apple product and everything to do with functionality.

But it really is true, I think, as Roger Ebert said in a tweet the other day (even though it was about the iKotex -- er, iPad): "Steve Jobs has done it again. One market-changing idea after another, while Microsoft totes that barge and lifts that bale." It really has been, for Microsoft, the focus of, "How can we make our OS clunkier and more unweildy so people have to spend several hundred dollars on software to make it functional?" Its like selling a new car for a higher and higher price, but offering fewer and fewer options you have to add on -- like steering.

I really liked that my iPhone was totally self-explanitory for setting up. I checked the manual maybe three times, though there were a few calls to techsupport when I was stumped. Before, when I got a new phone, I had to spend at least an hour or two going page-by-page through the manual to (1) unlearn all my habits from the previous phone and (2) learn how the new phone was oriented. Didn't feel like that at all when I got the iPhone, despite it being totally different than anything I'd ever owned before.

When I got a new PC or Windows-based laptop, there were many frustrating/-ed calls to my brother to figure the damn thing out. I had this thing up and running in 30 minutes, and that was including the tweakig of personal preferences.

Okay, okay. So I sound like I'm trying to convert the masses. No -- really I'm not. The two platforms -- Windows vs. Mac -- have different functions, different appeals to different people. It's just a computer, and it's no different than someone wanting a Ford over a Chevy. Or whatever. I just changed my mind. I could very easily go back to a Windows-based computer some day. Who knows.

But to the purchasing software to make things run, I'm going to spend a total of $53.44 -- and that's for iWorks '09, the Apple version of MS Office. I found it online for $30 less than what Apple wanted for it. Everything else, plus some things I may never touch (as happens with a Windows PC, too) are already on here.

I've had to dredge up some long-hibernating Mac knowledge to figure out how to work things (I asked Andrew one question: "What's the Mac equivalent of the control key?" Answer -- the little curlicued square key, the "command" key), and I've had to look up a few things. But it's otherwise pretty self-explanatory.

It's also cooler and quieter than the Gateway; that thing could make you sweat on a freezing day when the processor got into a run, and I could hear the cooling fan all the way in the other room. Neither is happening here...much quieter fan, much cooler body, likely having to do a lot from the fact that the case is made from aluminum, thereby wicking off much of the heat.

I have had to deal with a headache given by the newer, better, and thusly smaller-fonted resolution, but I'll get used to that. That always happens when I move to a better one. Always has. But that's okay. I waffled between wallpaper of the famous Japanese woodblock of The Wave, to an F-15 (my favorite fighter jet), F-15s, F-15s and F-16s flying over the Iraqi desert after a bombing run that lit up the oil fields (it's a cool picture, and one I tried to have on my old laptop, but it was always clipped). I finally settled on one that's an homage to a video game Andrew and I have loved called Portal.

Oh, and Daniel Craig, a la Casino Royale when he walks out of the ocean in nothing but a lovely, very tidily-fitting bathing suit that quite marvelously matches his blue eyes.

*sigh*

I can always go back to that one later. A girl has to have her man-candy/beefcake fix every now and again.

And again.

And...again. Mmm...Daniel Craig.

Sorry. I'm straying.

Anyhoo -- I'm loving my new piece of modern technology so far. iWorks should arrive in a few days and I can finally get down some of these story ideas that have been whapping around in my head like a large yacht in windy waters against a small pier. It's sometimes like having a room stuffed to the gills with restless, energy-sodden kids itching to get out into the sunshine at recess.

Getting my laptop did involve some adventure. I realize FedEx, UPS, DHL, UHF, PDQ, XYZ -- whomever -- design their routes by best-fitting, but you would think that with many packages marked "OVERNIGHT" (as was my laptop, a very nice upgrade in shipping given to me by Apple -- they really do have some awesome customer support!) and that -- put on your genius hats, please -- the knowledge that our apartment complex often closes for lunch every day from noon until one (has ever since I moved into this complex ten years ago), the driver/system/packagebot would figure out not to deliver at that time.

I was so excited to get my new laptop, I checked at lunch when I came home on Friday, having also asked the front office to put it in my apartment for me, to see if it was on its way as no package was inside when I got home (I come home for lunch every day...or usually do). My lunch hour on Friday was from 12:30 until 1:30.

I got home at a little past 12:35. To my utter dismay I saw that there was a "delivery exception" on the website because nobody was around to sign for it. When did the driver try?

(Here's where you hold onto your genius hats)

12:33 pm.

Twelve thirty-three in the afternoon. Thirty-three minutes past the noon hour. Twenty-seven minutes before one.

Right when the office is (really hold onto your genius hats now) CLOSED FOR LUNCH.

So I had to drive all the way to Lake Oswego to pick the damn thing up. It was advantageous, though, because I was planning on going to my father's house to have dinner with my grandmother (who lives with my father) and him this weekend, and I was able to do a load of towels in hot water to clean them up from last weekend's water fiasco.

Funny thing was, I'd been thinking just that morning, Gee, it would sure be easier if I could go have dinner today since I get off work early, but I really want to be home fiddling around with my new laptop.

I guess I got what I wished for.

For what I wished, that is, to appease you English-y type people out there. As Winston Churchill said about ending a sentene with a preposition, "That is something up with which I will not put."

So, to my title -- the Mac is pretty much the same thing, yet it's totally different. I remember making a similar remark to a friend about England and America (he's from London) -- mostly about the grocery stores and such, but also about the cultures -- "They're exactly the same -- " and here he chimed in "--yet completely different."

Then again, we know which is the right side of the road to drive on --

er --

-- upon which to drive.

-- H

P.S. I'm feeling much better from the surgery. The scars -- especially the one just below my sternum -- still ache from time to time, and I'm still really tired most of the time. But that's to be expected, according to all health-type people with whom I've spoken.

Dear Ricard Simmons, Please Donate Some of Your Energy

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Recovery is going pretty well. I was physically down and out for about a week after the surgery, and now I'm mostly dealing with the post-op fatigue. I've been told to expect at least six weeks of feeling under-energized, and other websites I've read have said that after (semi-)major surgery, it can take a few months or so.

But that's okay. I'm otherwise feeling much better; as I lay in my anesthesia-and-drug-induced fog in post-op, I noticed an immediate difference. The area where my gallbladder had been felt empty -- in a very lovely way. I had no idea I'd been living with that much discomfort all the time. The first few days I looked ashen and like leftovers of death that had been kept in the fridge too long and warmed over a few times too many. And then suddenly I didn't. The first thing I noticed was my skin -- it looked clean, clear and like it was somehow getting nutrients it had been lacking.

I can tell my body is still sorting out having an organ removed, and I think I've even lost some weight already. It's going to take some time before I feel balanced, but with summer coming up, I'll have some lovely time to recuperate. It's just that right now, I'm exhausted.

What I don't understand is how people become addicted to oxycodone, what the surgeon prescribed for me for the days that followed the surgery. It did a spiffy job on removing the pain, but it left me feeling like I had one of those gloppy algae-laden ponds in me and foggier than some of the stuff that floats into the San Francisco Bay. It messed up my natural sleep rhythm, too, which is partly why I'm still so tired, I think.

It also gave me whacked-out dreams. In one I was playing poker with a bright, emerald green, cartoon crocodile wearing sneakers, athletic socks, Wayfarers and was smoking a cigar. In another, I had a long epic dream of searching for the love of my life. I finally found him, and when I went to put my arms around him and kiss him -- I discovered he was made of sushi. Delighted, I began chewing on his chin and eating him.

I woke up craving a platter of sushi, something that stayed with me for several days.

So all is getting well there, in all meanings of the phrase. I spent last Saturday sprucing up my terrace. Given the disaster last year of frying everything I planted, no veggies this year, other than the hanging tomatoes I'll try. Instead, I planted seeds for flowers that tolerate dry heat, given the mini-climate I have out there. I also got two lovely four-foot pink jasmine bushes for $29.99 each at Fred Meyer; the nursery near me charges around $125 for the same thing. I also got a lovely chaise chair and pad to put on one end of the terrace so that the chairs can go on the other. It's going to be really nice out there this summer.

Then began a mini-war with a squirrel I've come to call the Little Trucker (except that rhymes with what I really call him) that seems to think my pots somehow contain magically-appearing nuts. I finally went to Fred Meyer and bought two owl statues to keep the L.F. off my terrace. The trick, however, is placing them where they scare him off, but don't terrify the little birds that come to the seed feeder, or my hummers.

I also came up with the idea of purchasing a Super Soaker to spray him when he sits in the trees outside my apartment and clucks at me when I'm out there reading. However...they can be rather clever and I may find myself with him fighting back. Like last year when I covered my newly-planted pots with clear plastic and he peed on them.

Speaking of water, I had a small fiasco this weekend. Tired of lugging the big watering pots out to my terrace to water the plans, I decided to get a hose and an attachment that goes on my kitchen faucet. After happily using it as I fluffed up and moistened the Winter-hardened soil in the pots, I went into the kitchen to get something to eat...only to find standing water on the floor. Seeping into the dishwasher. In my kitchen drawers. On the counters. Behind the pasta jars.

Had I still been on the oxycodone, I may have seen Noah floating by with small arc stuffed to the gills with animals.

It did make a lovely tinkling sound, however; I adore the sound of running water and I do have two small fountains I run during the summer out on my terrace...but I can do without it in my kitchen, thankyouverymuch.

The hose had come loose and created a thin fountain that had been spurting upwards with great enthusiasm and pleasure for the last hour or so. It took all my towels to sop it up, followed by three days of them hanging up in my pantry to dry out so I could put them in a sack to wash this weekend. Despite the small flood, it was still decidedly easier to water that way than with the pots. I've sorted out a way to keep it from spraying. At least I believe I have.

-- H

T-12 Days Until Gallbladder Euthanisation

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 19:06:00 +0000

In my research about gallbladder disease (cholecystitis if you want the $5 word; don't ask me to pronounce it) I found that it can cause a lot of things in your body to get off kilter; among them feeling tired all the time (which I am, even with a good night's rest and being knocked out by half a sleeping pill), weight gain and difficulty losing it (well -- I have no trouble "losing it" -- ha ha). My surgeon, at the consult, said I'd likely find that after that pesky bag of marbles lodged under my ribcage is removed, many things would clear up.

I hope so, given I woke up yesterday with the left side of my jaw aching. I thought perhaps I'd been clenching my teeth (I do that every once in awhile) and that side of my jaw was sore...but as the morning wore on I realized the lymph node just under the bone and slightly forward of the joint was swollen. The ache radiated all the way up my head, collecting in my eyeball, stopping at the temple -- and all the way down into my shoulder. I finally went home at one in the afternoon to take some prescription painkillers/anti-inflammatory medicine. It barely made a dent, and, after an hour, I swallowed three generic ibuprofins and finally got some relief.

Likely not something my liver and kidneys -- or my doctor! -- would like, but when you can barely open your mouth to slip in a straw to drink water you get creative. I just hope it doesn't get like the one under the right side of my jaw that went postal on me last month when I was sick; I ended up having to go on a 5-day dose of prednisone to calm it down. Or "progesterone" as I kept calling it; my acupuncturist was stumped at why I was prescribed progesterone; I replied back in my email it was for my lymph node (she later said she figured out what I meant). It wasn't until I was talking to a co-worker who paused and said, "You mean -- prednisone?"

I paused -- and then laughed as I realized the mistake I had made. It was somewhat like the time I got really sick as a child and my father took me to the doctor. When we got home, my mother said, "So what does she have?"

I declared, "I have FLUMATISM!"

Hey -- it sounded like a real word. (Still does, thankyouverymuch!)

I realize that it's movement and exercise that keeps your lymph nodes clear, but when even -- gentle -- yoga makes your gallbladderthrow a tantrum, you wind up just becoming more and more of a couch potato. Which is okay...I'm enjoying my PS3 immensely and the Netflix streaming; I also watched Up last night -- in Blu-ray format!). Great movie. And I'm glad I watched it that way, as there were parts that had me laughing so hard I was coughing, thus making it necessary to rewind it (can you say "rewind" when referring to a DVD?) and watch it again. There was one scene I watched about a dozen times merely because it was so funny.

Those Pixar people are absolute geniuses.

So, so much for my plans this evening. I was going to go see a friends band, but the idea of standing around for four hours makes me want to fall asleep. Oh well.

At least it's a beautiful day. I have my terrace door open at the moment, to let in the wind and air, which smells clean and creamy and limned with the scent of cherry blossoms from the tree outside my apartment. I'm also listening to the birds happily singing out there. I hear more over in this unit than I ever did in my old one (though I miss hearing the robins that live mostly over by that building), and I've even been hearing mourning doves. I just wish, come summer, the little guys would wait until 6:00 a.m. or so before they started chorusing, rather then the nanosecond the first ray of light hits the atmosphere.

I guess that's what earplugs are for.

I can also sit here on my couch and watch the hummingbirds come to my feeder. The species that lives around here don't migrate, and so I've had to keep my feeder filled all winter -- I have to put new food in every week! The hummers that come (holy cats ats their wings are loud; when they whizz past me when I'm outside it startles me every time!) are very territorial. I've watched more than a few humming bird beatdowns out there.

And for little birds, their call/song sure is loud!

So Spring is definitely springing. I'm not sure if I'm going to attempt any veggies. I may try a hanging basket of tomatoes. But as for flowers -- maybe some of my usual geraniums, but I need to get others that are fine in hot, dry heat, given that even on days when it was around 80 it was still warm due to the heat and light bouncing back up from the cars and asphalt below. My dad suggested salvia, and I noticed on a website zinnias (one of my favorite flowers) and dahlias are good too. Perhaps I can take the list to the nursery near me and see what I can find.

My first step towards getting healthier will be my surgery on March 11; they said to expect recovery time to be around 5-7 days, so I won't miss too much work. Just Thursday the 11th, Friday and Monday and Tuesday perhaps. Plus I have Saturday and Sunday in there. I lost a bunch of paid time off and vacation time last month when I went kaput, so I earmarked a chunk of my tax return to offset any time lost (another chunk is going to go towards a new laptop).

Then I'm going to focus on the exercise. I'm considering hiring a personal trainer to help me get back on track -- and not move too quickly. I feel like a review/reset of my habits might be a good idea. I also have an appointment with a nutritionist later in March -- my choice -- to have someone take a look at my diet. It's generally pretty good and healthy, but again -- a review is always good, especially post-gallbladder ejection.

My goal and focus for the summer is to get back on track with everything, maybe even take part in the Race for the Cure. Walking, of course; I'm way too out of shape to train in time to run it. I have to say it's really nice to be moving towards a solution for all of this. It's been taking a toll on my spirits, too.

Anyhoo -- perhaps I shall at least go for a small walk around the perimeter of the apartment buildings later this afternoon; fresh air and a dose of sunshine can really do a lot.

-- H

No, Really. I Get It for the Articles.

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 23:33:00 +0000

It's an absolutely glorious day outside, warm sunshine, cool air, pale crystalline-blue sky, more and more birds returning and singing. The air smells clean and sublime. Right now there's a private plane flying overhead and days like this combined with that sound make me think of being a little kid in Walla Walla, Washington; I remember lying out in the grass on pretty spring and summer days just like this one, listening to the wind in the trees and to private planes thrumming by overhead.

If it were any other day, I'd be outside in a jiffy, going for a walk, but I've been on the downside of health this last month. I came down with a rotten tummy virus around January 11, that cascaded me into being out of work for two weeks (I was able to do some work from home, thankfully), several trips to the doctor and the urgent care facility at Kaiser -- as well as multiple calls to the advice staff after hours.

I had been having pain off and on in my sternum and under my right ribcage, and one Sunday morning a few weeks ago I started feeling dizzy and hurting more; after another trip to Urgent Care (chauffeured by my father) and a follow-up ultrasound -- and, in addition, another trip to Urgent Care a week later -- an EKG and X-Rays, it turns out my gallbladder has finally gone kaput.

I had a terrible attack four and half years ago, resulting in my brother -- who was living with me at the time -- needing to rush me to the hospital around two in the morning. I had awakened in serious pain and feeling like I'd had 32 chili cheese dogs just prior to going on as many whirly rides at a county fair; I finally did manage to throw up -- several times -- and relief didn't come. Generally, the thought is, If I could just throw up, I'll feel so much better! -- but, it didn't work that way that time. That's when I knew I was in trouble.

The suggestion was to have it out then, but all the surgeon could do was repeat himself by saying, "I think you should take it out on the possibility you might have this happen again."

"You mean it will happen again?" I asked.

"Maybe," was his reply.

"So there's no guarantee, then."

"You might have another attack -- and you might never have one again."

"So why do I need to have my gallbladder removed -- right now?"

"Because," the surgeon said again, "you might have one again. Someday."

I declined; the idea of having surgery maybe possibly perhaps on the off chance you might / might not just didn't sit well with me.

But apparently I'm now carrying a small bag of marbles in me, many of which are apparently half a centimeter in size. My current physician suggested surgery, and my reply this time was, "Yes, please."

I was, however, on the fence for awhile about it, but after being awake all night feeling my gallbladder spasming like it was spitting out desperate Morse code, I decided it was definitely time. Technically, that was when I sent my doctor an email that said, Yes, please. Get this thing out of me.

I blame my father. I have no other reason for gallbladder disease other than my inheriting his clunker of one. I've always eaten well, and don't have a smidgen of a lifestyle that would result in developing it. The last possibility of it was family history. I.e. -- Dad. Apparently his started misbehaving when he was 17, and it wasn't until about 15 -- give or take -- years ago he had his out on an emergency basis while on business in Taipei. It was so bad for him, a stone had gotten lodged causing pancreatitis and internal gangrene. I really do not wish to have that experience.

My father has a theory of "reverse genetics", in that he did not develop certain traits until after I was born, and I told him he couldn't claim that this time for his own malfunctioning gallbladder, consider that, when he was 17, I wasn't even a gleam in his eye yet.

"True," he said. "So it's your inheritance."

Thanks, Dad. I'll be sure to not spend it all in one place....

(The last thing he saw before he fell asleep prior to his surgery was a fly going by...sorta sums up the conditions at the hospital there!)

So, consequently, I've been feeling particularly under the weather these last weeks; it doesn't matter what I eat now..anything can cause this stupid thing to have a fit. I had sushi the other night and it threw a minor tantrum. A plate of mostly raw veggies and a Morning Star "burger" (all very low-fat!) and it had a fit. It's okay during the day, but, at night, it makes it hard to sleep. I was prescribed vicodin a few weeks ago for the pain so I could sleep, and I ended up having an "adverse reaction" to it; instead of knocking me out cold, I wound up as wired as if I'd had five espressos right before bed, having a racing heart and I kept breaking out in hot flashes and sweating. I didn't fall asleep until after 5:30 that morning, causing me to miss more work.

I haven't felt rested and fully well in over a month, and, after doing research about issues that can arise from having a factory-defective gallbladder, it seems a lot of my other health complaints could very easily be stemming from it. My surgeon (she's actually an intern, but I liked her right off the bat) said that I'll easily feel much, much better shortly after it comes out.

Amen, sister. Amen to that.

Some days are better than others, but usually I just want to sleep and stay still...hence my being inside on this glorious day.

Although it's laproscopic, the surgery information says to give myself about 5-10 days of recovery time, still. My hope is to have my new laptop by then so I can work from home (I can do it on this one, but it's somewhat on the laborious side due to the screen being so small). If not, this laptop will do -- plus I have my brand spankin' new PlayStation 3, which my brother convinced me to purchase.

I mentioned I was going to use my Christmas gift money for a Blu-Ray player, particularly one that had the ability to stream Netflix movies; Andrew suggested I get the PlayStation 3 since "you can also play games!"

Yes, I like a good computer game, but I don't really need that ability. But then he started explaining exactly what else the snazzy little thing can do, I decided to do so. In addition to being one of the top-rated Blu-Ray players out there, you can also purchase and store movies on its 120GB hard drive (there's also a 250GB model) -- as well as music and photos. There's also a multitude of other things it can do (like browse the Internet!), and you can even swap out the hard drive for a larger one as it's just a standard laptop drive. There's even a utility on the machine to transfer your data -- but you can also hook up external drives and store more movies on them and access them through the player.

It's pretty sweet.

I'm hoping I can do what my brother did with his media center (which is essentially what the PS3 can be), and that's load all my DVDs onto an external drive and store them that way...I'm running out of room to store my DVD boxes, and I'm starting to need to get a rack of some sort -- and I don't really have the room for one.

The streaming Netflix ability is really cool, too. I'm working my way through Torchwood -- a spin-off from the "new" Doctor Who show -- and have a bunch of other things lined up as well. I also watched my first Blu-Ray movie today, Moon, which is excellent. I upgraded my Netflix account to one DVD -- Blu-Ray or standard -- out at a time (and as many as I want in a month) and unlimited streaming time. That was just $6.00 more than what I was already paying.

I also used the rest of my gift money to get some new, good-quality speakers to plug into my television (it's really nice to finally get the full use of its HD capabilities) so now I have really good sound, too. I also got a standard-looking remote for the PS3; you can use the game controller, but it's sort of awkward. I ended up paying a whole whopping $13 of my own money to get all that.

I mentioned to a co-worker I'd gotten the PS3, "But mostly for the Blu-Ray capabilities," I said.

"Not to play games, of course," he said.

"No," I said. "Never."

He burst out laughing and said, "Yeah. Just like people only get Playboy for the articles."

"Yes -- exactly!"

So game playing ability aside (a bonus, just like the articles -- er, the pictures -- are in Playboy) it's an awesome little piece of technology. I will have plenty to watch as I'm recuperating after my surgery -- which is scheduled for March 11.

I think I may ask the surgeon if I can toss my gallbladder into the incinerator myself.

Remember, I Can See You

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 16:51:00 +0000

Gentle -- but important -- suggestions to men posting pictures in personal ads:

Shave. Make an effort to look decent. Comb your hair. If you look like a slob, then you're not going to get the responses you want. Would you want to buy you if your photo is of you in craptacular jeans, an old t-shirt and a face that shows you haven't shaved in about five days? Better yet -- would you hire yourself for a job? No? Well why would a put-together woman want to "hire" you? The "looks don't matter" is partially true -- but when you look like you just rolled out of bed and took the photo -- you're saying, "I'm not all that interested in this", and "I don't really give a crap." There's not caring and not giving a shit. Big difference, really.
Post a photo. If you don't this leads us women to wonder -- what are you hiding? What are you afraid we'll see? I have a friend who always wonders, If he isn't posting a photo...what else is he hiding? Marriage? Every damn cellphone on the planet has a camera, and nearly all allow you to email a photo to yourself or someone you can then use. And damn near everyone has an actual camera. If you don't -- surely someone you know has one? Yes? And no, a damn Simpsonized or Family Guy-ized "photo" of yourself DOES NOT COUNT.

DON'T LIE. Don't state in your profile that you're "athletic, fit, trim" when you're closer to the Michelin Man.
If I don't respond, don't keep emailing me. It makes you sound desperate and like a complete jerk.
Put some effort in your "personal essay" or whatever. It's a given you like long walks on the beach, movies, dining, etc. Tell me something that isn't standard personal ad schlock. Throw in some personality. Again -- you're selling yourself. This is your resume. Your cover letter. Would you buy the bland, generically-advertised product, or would you lean towards the funny ad made with humor and creativity?
Don't make a date with me and then tell me you've already chosen someone else.
Don't make a date with me, tell me you had an awesome time and the slink away. Be a man. Use those balls you're so proud of and just tell me, "Thanks, but no thanks." Lying just makes you look like a douche bag.
Don't take it personally if I'm not interested in you. There's plenty of men out there who aren't interested in me, either.
DON'T LIE. About anything. Like -- you know. Saying you're a certain age then meeting with me and it's obvious you're about 10 years beyond the photo you published.
DON'T LIE. (I can't stress this enough).

Granted, I get it takes a big load of self-esteem to throw yourself out in the dating world, especially in the realm of serial blind dating through any one of the personal dating sites. But it's extremely frustrating when the men on the sites come across as bland, bored / boring, slobs. Women are visual creatures, men. Weekend scruff and holey socks are okay -- but this is true window shopping. Any window decorator will tell you it's how the merchandise is displayed that's going to pull the people into the store. You are your own window-dresser. Showcase yourself.

Showing that you care about how you look and make the effort to be at least a little creative in your ad shows that you're actually interested. It also doesn't mean you're being -- or I'm being -- shallow. The book does get judged by the cover, I'm sorry. Because it's what catches the reader's eye to actually pick it up and make them want to read further. Yes, beauty is only skin deep...but actually shaving and wearing some nice clothes for your picture is worth the effort.

If you don't care -- fine. But these complaints I'm listing here are what I hear nearly all of my single women friends state. And I have a lot of single women friends. So it's not just me. If you want us to look a little further -- buy some new razors and some shaving cream and at least get rid of the scraggly scruff. There's an art to having it -- pick up a copy of GQ or Details. You'll see that the men in there with scruff have done it in a very specific way...and they're also in nicer clothes.

Any marketing executive will tell you it's about the packaging. You don't need to look like a metrosexual. Just...clean yourself up a little. Be creative. Show me that you're actually interested in catching my eye. Show me that you actually care about the fact you plunked down at least $100.

But if you can't, well -- best of luck to you. I do hope you find someone.

Weighty Decision

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 20:42:00 +0000

I had a moment of clarity awhile ago. None of my clothes fit me properly; I realized everything -- except for my stretchy t-shirts -- was too tight. For awhile now, there have been certain (favorite!) skirts I couldn't wear, but it became such that everything was too small. When your entire wardrobe -- including things that used to be loose -- makes you look and feel like a sausage being stuffed into a too-small casing, it's time to get serious about exercise.

I know I've talked before about how I've "finally" gotten back into a routine, but it wasn't something that would seem to stick. There were a few important things I had to work through before I got serious about it again. One was that I was diagnosed with adrenal fatigue (I believe I've mentioned this), and so I was completely drained of all energy and felt exhausted most of the time, even if I tried gentler exercise like walks and yoga.

Another was that I had developed a very frenetic way of looking at exercise -- a very judgmental way. I wasn't doing it for my health; instead, I was doing it because I was afraid to go back to where I was about ten years ago when I weighed 200 lbs. Yes. 200 lbs. This led me to a terrible situation of serious body dismorphia -- no matter what I weighed, I didn't feel like I looked any different. When I was 200 I absolutely could not see the weight; I honestly could not see that I looked any different than when I weighed 135-142. The only thing that got me to realize I was too heavy was the number on the scale.

But what happened was that when I did lose the weight and got back down to a much healthier number -- that same range -- I had a two-fold perception of not looking any different; what I mean is that I honestly couldn't see I'd lost weight. It was like my two eyes were seeing two different images. On one hand, I could tell I looked like I did before I put the weight on -- and the scale supported that -- but on the other, I still thought I looked "fat".

And so I began to work out harder and longer; a personal trainer and my doctor told me I was at a very healthy weight and BMI, but I absolutely, positively couldn't see it. I wasn't seeing myself properly. Part of me knew by my clothing sizes and the numbers on the scale and my BMI readings I looked great -- but I'd somehow fallen into a crack in my psyche that fostered a very distorted body image. I knew that, too -- but I wasn't getting it.

I never got into a phase of developing an eating disorder, but the way I kept thinking about myself was just as bad. I'm pretty certain that was a large factor that threw me into the adrenal fatigue (one of the main components of it is stress), which didn't get diagnosed until last year. But I think it was my body's last defense, because it got me to stop exercising altogether. Just prior to my stopping it, I was in the gym one day, using the treadmill, and I found myself locked into a terrible run of thoughts -- about myself, about the people around me...and I realized I hated the place. And that I'd started to hate myself, in a way -- from the distorted image, for having the distorted image and for how judgmental I'd gotten of the people there and of myself.

That gave me a big moment of pause, and I realized I had to stop doing anything until I got that sorted out. I suppose that was my moment of clarity.

Perhaps a year later or so, I got into yoga -- but I realized I had inserted the "healthy" version of exercise for what I'd been doing. It was merely a substitution, because I'd begun to carry the same thoughts about myself; I kept thinking I looked terrible because I didn't look like the woman on my DVDs. I knew, of course, that was a dumb way to look at it -- but it was there. And so I put those away for awhile. That was last year some time.

I knew once I got to a place where I could look at myself in a healthier way and not abuse the exercise and its benefits I would get back into a regular routine. I spent a lot of time working on that -- on how I saw myself, on recognizing my cues for slipping into that way of thinking, on how to take a proper, broad-spectrum way of viewing it all. I had gradually put on about thirty pounds and wasn't happy with how I looked -- but I decided to use that to my advantage to start listening to how I was really talking to myself, what I was really saying and how it was affecting me. Until I could accept myself for who I was and what I looked like without judgment, I was just going to remain in that crack in my psyche. As a life coach, I talk to people all the time about how acceptance of what is means being able to then move forward and make changes...but it is a difficult thing to put into practice personally at times.

Awhile back my doctor at Kaiser did make a comment that I was carrying more weight than I likely should, and I told him I knew I was and told him about where I'd found myself about all of that and what I was doing to get to a better way of looking at it all and he understood. It was an important thing to do, he said, and was glad I had recognized that in myself and was doing something about it.

Sometime this past summer, a desire to get really focused again began to bubble to the surface, but I was cautious about it, making sure I was being very mindful of that desire and how to put it into motion. And so I began working really hard on doing just what I talked about with people all day long -- that unconditional acceptance of myself, forgiveness for having had that way of thinking (and for the weight gain)...without that, without the self-compassion I was only going to move back into that way of thinking.

Then something clicked about a month and a half ago; I began doing 30 minutes of yoga in the morning, then added on walking. Then I realized that if I really wanted results, I'd have to get back to the gym. But it would have to be in the morning; every single medical professional I'd been seeing (my Kaiser doctor, my acupuncturist, my naturopath, my doctor of Chinese medicine) were all in consensus that exercising in the evening was jacking up my system more than I realized, which was then interfering with my sleep. I didn't think it was...but when everyone is telling you the same thing -- well...it's a good thing to listen to.

I've been naturally waking up around 5 already for whatever reason, and so I decided I could just use that to my advantage. I started getting up in time to get to the gym by about 5:30, allowing me time for a good routine of cardio and weights, and time to eat something both beforehand and after, make something to take for a larger breakfast at work, and get cleaned up. So far it's working out well. I take Tuesdays and Fridays off; that way I have my old 3 on, 1 off, 2 on, 1 off routine that worked so well before; I opted for Fridays because I have to be at work by 7 am; Monday through Friday it's 8.

Plus I'm more open to trying some of the classes Bally offers -- like the spinning class. No, I'm not sitting at a wheel making yarn; you sit on a specialized stationery bike and are led through different speeds, etc. I've heard great things about it, so I figured, why not? I also want to try the "Kwando Strike" class, which is based on kickboxing. Both those classes piqued my interest when Bally introduced them, but that was also about the time my burnout was really starting to gain momentum.

This time around, too, I'm taking pictures of myself as I lose the weight. I didn't that last time (I'm nowhere near needing to lose the same amount of weight as before), and I think that may have led to that dysmorphic way of looking at myself; I had no visual reference. Yes, I kept logs of my weight, my waist and hip measurements and so on -- but there's nothing like photographic proof.

I pulled out some pictures of myself that were taken back when I was in great shape, and they were both inspiring and depressing. Inspiring because I realized how great I looked then, and that I wanted to aim for that again -- and depressing for the same reason, because it showed just how much I'd put on...and how good I looked -- but didn't see it. That's not going to happen this time.

So, speaking of which, it's time for me to have some lunch and get to the gym. And then maybe a nap. It's certainly the weather for it; it's been consistently about 10-12 degrees lower than the predicted lows. It was only supposed to get down to 22 (only!), but it was getting down to 9 and even 6 degrees; the high was supposed to then be in the mid-thirties, but it was only getting up to 29. (I guess it's the global warming). I think Mom Nature somehow confused us with North Dakota...no snow though. What was amusing was that I got an email at work from someone in Australia talking about how they were in the midst of a heat wave! Ha!

Happy Christmakwanzannukah to everyone!

-- H

Insert Clever Title Here

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 15:52:00 +0000

Okay, so it's hard to be clever at 7:43 in the morning. I'm up (since 6:30; I awoke at 4:33, but while that's a decent time on a weekday so I can get more things done in the morning, it wasn't a pleasant idea on a Saturday!), and I felt like writing something. I guess I don't always have to be clever and witty!

I did, however, crash, last night. I've been giving in and going to bed by about 7:45 or so this past week (I had to laugh when I thought about that yesterday -- when I was a little girl, my parents made me go to bed at 7:30 -- guess because they knew I'd sneak books or lie there off in my own little world of imagination...like I was during the day, for the most part...) and I got so mad. I remember clearly, once, my mother saying, as I blubbered my way into my room, "Some day you're going to wish you could go to bed this early and you won't be able to!"

Oh, horrors! Never! Adults got to stay up as late as they wanted! 7:30? Never! I wanted to stay up until that magical hour of midnight, when dolls began to dance and the house came alive with ghosts and creatures from other realms!

Once...I did. I awoke at just before midnight and got all excited. I lay there, waiting for the hands on my little see-through alarm clock (it was made of clear plastic, so I could see all the gears and springs and doohickeys ticking away) to stand straight up at attention. They did and --

Absolutely nothing happened.

I was so disappointed. Another childhood dream dashed away...no singing Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls. No fairies coming out. No gnomes and unicorns appearing in the yard below my window. When I mentioned my disappointment to my parents (in my now-adult mind's eye looking back, I realize they had to bite back smiles), I was informed I had to be asleep in order for all of that to happen. That was the magic of it all.

Lousy technicality!

So last night, I had my dinner and watched an episode of Perry Mason, then lay on the couch playing a game of solitaire on my iPhone. I got very sleepy, and thought, "Oh...I'll just lie here and doze a bit."

And -- BAM! Next thing I know, it was 8:45. I'd been asleep for over an hour. I guess those really early mornings are catching up to me, even though I haven't done that in a while. I get up at 4:30 (well, the alarm goes off then, and I'm usually up by 4:45) so I have time to do everything I want to do, and still get to work on time. Surprisingly, it's been very easy to get up then.

However, when I went back to sleep, I did have a very odd dream that I came home from work and not only discovered my apartment had changed into a college dorm room, but was still here in the same building, someone had left not only a Wii with the game Rock Band, but a full set of instruments...including an antique Marshall amp that had once been used by Buddy Holly.

Alllll rigghty, then, as Jim Carrey said in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.

(No I am NOT thinking about getting a Wii, the game or the instruments...I have an iPhone to pay off and a new laptop to save up for. While I do like this one as it's a big step up from what I have, it's literally falling apart...the little plasict bar on the front of the CD tray pops off every time I open it, and the two USB ports on the right side quit working. Additionally, I'm working on getting my emergency fund built back up. So no, Andrew -- I'm not thinking about getting a Wii. :-) I wouldn't use it often enough. I will cross over to the "Dark Side" only so far!)

There's one little app on my phone I really like -- best $0 I've ever spent! -- that's been very helpful for budget-minding. You're supposed to be able back up all the transactions, but every time I try, I'm told the server is down or too busy. So I decided to see if there was some help in the FAQ section of their help area of the app...and was delighted to see that it was very comprehensive.

All in Japanese.

Doomo-Arigato, app!

Fall is here, and with it chilly nights I call "change-over" weather...it's too warm for full PJs and a comforter when you go to bed, but some point in the night it is, and then you get hot with the extra covers later. It's also the kind of "umbrella and sunglasses" weather my father jokes about; we get that this time of year and in the Spring.

Anyhoo -- I think that's all for now. Not much else to report!

-- H

Report-o-Heather

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 20:07:00 +0000

What a gorgeous weekend. Both days were that lovely, golden warm weather we get well into October. Saturday I went for my acupuncture treatment, then out over to the other side of town to spend the afternoon and evening with my family. It was a celebration for my brother's birthday the day before, and for Hanne passing the bar. Andrew's college roommate and his girlfriend also came over; Dan has the ability to work from wherever he wants, so the two of them trekked out here to spend 4-5 months living out here, and then plan to head down to Northern CA; somewhere north of SanFran. I think they're crazy for wanting to leave here -- but that area of California is absolutely gorgeous. I miss it sometimes.

Work has been busier lately, which is nice. It had gotten a tad slow there, for awhile, both for business, and, thusly emails or phones to answer. We recently launched a new four-lesson coaching course to go with new purchases of our initial meditation program, and that's been very popular. We rearranged our work schedule so that we're open from seven in the morning until six at night; I'm here (I'm on lunch at the moment!) from eight until four; I do like having more hours, but I'm usually dead and useless by four, anyway, so it's actually been nice getting off at that time.

It has taken some adjustment (having come to work at 8:30 for the last seven years), and, when I get home, I keep wanting to fall into the routine I had for arriving back around 5:30 -- like getting dinner together. It's been nice to have the extra time for writing or whatnot. However, with the new schedule, I now have an hour of phones to do during the 12:30 - 1:30 lunch shift (mine is from 11:30 - 12:30), and I've actually liked taking more calls than I used to do. Changes things up from doing emails and emails and more emails.

I haven't been waking up as early as I was, but 4:30-ish seems to be what my body's settled into...at least for now. That's okay with me; it gives me time to have a more leisurely morning before heading off to work. Been having really odd dreams lately, too. But I can't really recall them upon waking.
We did have kind of a wild and crazy summer -- long time to warm up, then BLAMMO right into a heat wave like we haven't had in 20 years (strange year for weather -- the blizzard back in Dec-Jan, then that weird heat...very annoying in a third-floor apartment!), and now we're into the Fall weather...but I find myself liking the change of seasons, even if we didn't have much of a summer. I kind of go into a kind of mental hibernation mode that's nice.

Not much to report on the vegetable end; the heat wave zapped pretty much everything. Next year I'm trying hanging tomatoes, however. And it should be easier, given heat waves like that are very rare (I get the radiant heat from the blacktop and cars below me; one day, the worst of the heat days, I checked the thermometer, and it said it was 115 out there on my terrace. Bleah.)

The other thing I've been doing lately is being much more mindful of how / what I eat. I have generally good eating habits, but, upon taking a long hard look, I realized I'd slipped into some bad habits and was lacking in certain areas. I've put on about 30ish pounds over the last year or so because of the decline in what / how I've been eating, as well as becoming more of a slug. So with the newly-improved regime of better eating and a daily 30-minute practice of yoga, I think I'll be seeing improvements. I've also been factoring in more walks. I've also decided to let my body lose the weight as it needs to; my other attempts, I realized, were more about trying to coerce myself into doing better and losing the weight, and even coerce my body into losing. Not the healthiest way to do it.

Well, that's all, folks, as Porky the Pig would say -- at least for now.

-- H

Is This Really the Future of the Self Family? Waking Up at Ungodly Hours?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 15:26:00 +0000

The headline is from a reply my brother sent to me yesterday, upon his receipt of my "Happy Birthday!" post on his Facebook wall when he saw the timestamp. I'd been awake since 2:35 that morning. My reply was "Could be...could very well be."

My dad and grandmother both have a tendency for waking up early in the morning -- and staying awake, usually -- and Andrew and I lately seem to both be waking up really early. My mother does the opposite -- she often doesn't go to bed until around 2:30 - 3:00 in the morning...sort of the opposite, but still similar.

I usually feel pretty rested. Yesterday I was kind of tired, but by Fridays I usually am, anyway. I can say that the fatigue I had, however, was far less than in other weeks and months, even after getting 8-9 hours of sleep. I'm a bit on the more-fatigued side this morning, but I'm wondering if that's more due to the fact I was wide awake at 4:35 (what is it with the :35 minute time with me? 3:35, 2:35, 4:35... or sometimes it's 3:23, 4:23, etc. Maybe I should have a numerologist take a gander? Ha!)

Anyway. I am more tired than I was yesterday, but as I started to say, I wonder if it's more because I didn't just get up when I first awoke at 4:35; I opted to go back into a doze, and I fell into a round of vivid, thick-feeling over-sleep dreams. I awoke at 5:23 -- there it is again -- and made myself get up. But I did feel rather groggy and worn out as I do when I (make myself) sleep longer than my body indicates it wants. I won't really be able to take a nap later, as I have a "human needlepoint" appointment (as Andrew calls my acupuncture appointments), and then I'm heading over to his and Hanne's (pronounced, as she says, "like banana) house for celebrations. It was his 30th (eeek!) birthday yesterday, and she passed the bar exam with flying colors. They also recently got engaged. Yippee!

I am wondering if this new time thing is actually progress; while I'm crashing around 8:15 in the evening or so (I prefer to go to bed when I'm tired, and not stretch it out and go to bed at a time that "seems" better), it appears these earlier times (at least for now) is what my body wants...before I'd go to bed then and sleep until 5-6 (or even 7) in the morning and still wake up tired. I was diagnosed last year with adrenal fatigue, which was the reason I was consistently tired, even with exercise (yoga, mostly -- or walks) and a good diet. So between my nutritionist, my superb acupuncturist (LaNai Mackey; she works at the Kwan Yin Center if any of you local peeps would like to have an appointment; the fee is anything from $45 to, I think $75 -- meaning it's up to you what you want to pay from the low to high end) and my Kaiser doctor, I got that under control. So...yeah. I'd like to see this as progress.

I was so tired there for awhile I even dropped yoga out of my life. I'd get home from work and want to just become a schlump of a potato on my couch. But in recent months I've begun working on a new book, I've gotten back into my beloved yoga (as I did I really wondered why I quit, given how good it makes me feel!), and I really started taking a hard look at my died and realized I'd kind of fallen off the wagon; it was okay / decent...but it was lacking in some areas. I also realized I really wanted to take better care of myself...had an epiphany that I hadn't wanted to for long months. Or I hadn't cared. Or both.

But I think I'm back up and running; though not literally. My left knee would commit mutiny and throw me overboard if I did. I'm just glad I'm feeling better!

Maybe I could do some writing in the morning, too....oh. That would be nice; especially with how quiet it is then. Wowsers. I see why it's recommended to do meditation or tai chi or qi gong and such at that hour. It's like the whole world -- at least in your timezone -- is still and breathing more fully.

Okee dokee. I think that's all for now; time to go switch my laundry.

-- H

I Think I'm Rising From the Depths of my iPhone Addiction

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 19:32:00 +0000

Well...sort of. Maybe. :-)

I've absolutely loved this, and I really think it's one of the best purchases I've made in a long time, even though Jane says I've become a sheep, following the herd. I'm okay with that, given it really is (to me at least) a handy tool. It also has the best reception I've ever had on any phone, even when I'm down a few bars. No dropped calls, no freezing, no funkitudery like my last cell phone kept having.

I did get a little app-happy. I've culled it down, however to useful ones (like a budget minder one and a grocery store list that allows me to group my lists into separate stores -- i.e. WinCo or Fred Meyer -- so it's not all on one long list; I did have to buy that one to get the full features, but it was worth the upgrade) as well as some fun ones...like the full version of Wolfenstein3D. That was worth $1.99. I also found a couple of really cool ones that allow you to mix together sounds (birds, ocean, thunderstorms, meditation music, and so on) -- and even music from the songs you've uploaded to the phone's iPod -- which has given me a lot of really nice combos for yoga in the mornings.

The phone does have a funny quirk to it, though. The Voice Dial feature is new on the 3Gs phones, and has a few bugs to work out. For instance, if I say, "Call Dad" the female Stephen Hawking voice will say, "Calling Asha Kamath." So I'll try again. "Call Dad." "Calling Pay My Bill." Sometimes it works right off the bat -- other times, in the fifty-'leven tries, I could have manually dialed the number twelve times over.

So it has moved from "new toy" status to "useful tool". (There's a joke lurking around in there, I know...like "kind of like my brother" -- [hee hee ha ha you're the best brother ever, Andrew!] -- but I'll let you guys come up with them).

Lately, I've been crashing around 8:30 in the evening, which has then caused me to wake up -- fully -- around 4:30. I've discovered that if I doze past that, I end up really groggy and I have those uber-weird dreams I call "oversleep dreams." So I've been getting up and beginning my day, and I have to say I really like having a lazier morning...but I still find I can't quite get out of the house on time. After coming to work at 8:30 am for the last seven years, the mental shift to 8:00 am has been sticky. But I can say it's been really nice to wake up feeling fully-rested and on my own, and not have to do the snooze alarm tango.

If you look up in the address bar of your window, you'll now see, on the right side of the box, a little orange square. Blogger now allows for RSS feeds, which means you will be automatically updated when I have a new post...which means I don't have to email everyone all the time. (I realize most of you reading this know what this is, but there may be a few that don't). By subscribing (you'll get two choices: Atom or RSS; you want RSS), it will also create a little manila folder with the orange stripes. You can place it on your browser tool bar, or in your bookmarks. If you click on it, then links to my posts will be in there. The top one will always be the newest one.

I can't say I'll update more often...but I think I might trying that. Because then I won't do the marathon War and Peace posts and can shave them down to...oh -- Anna Karenina. Who knows? With practice, I might be able to sum it all up in a limerick or -- for a more classy way -- a haiku.

That is all.

-- H

I Drank the Kool-Aid...

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 01:28:00 +0000

...And crossed over to the Dark Side (shiiiiiiiiiii...poohhhhh...shiiiiiiiii...poohhh....)

My current cell phone has been acting whacky for awhile, now -- i.e. dropping calls for no reason when I have bars up the wazoo and off and into forever; freezing, not ringing when a call comes in, then alerting me to a voice mail...no, that wasn't what happened with you, Mom [sorry!] that was total and complete PEBKAK [Problem Exists Between Keyboard and Chair]; showing that I have, again, bars up the wazoo, yet it tells me that there's "No Network", and so on. Actually, it used to do that when I first got it, though less frequently...but enough to make me go out and buy a whole new phone after only having that one about five or six months.

I loved the replacement; it was a tiny little thing. A "Zoolander" phone as my brother Andrew and my friend Jen called it. It was also referred to as my little spy phone; it was -- still is, really -- the world's smallest camera phone. Folded open it was about the length of a credit card and a quarter more; closed, half that, not including the little 3/4 inch antenna.

It was a fairly basic phone (fine for me, since I just used it to make and receive calls; plus it has to be fairly basic to be that tiny), but it kept giving me a heart attack when it would either get loose from its pocket in my purse or I'd simply drop it in because I couldn't find it right away. I was then beset with a rollicking F-15 loop-de-loop of panic as I'd think, "Oh, my God! My cell phone's gone!" I'd, of course, find it...but I got really tired of the cell-phone-and-purse equivalent of a Jack-in-the-Box.

So I went back to my other phone a little while after moving into my new place. One of the other reasons I got the 007 / Zoolander phone was that it got crappy reception at best. I'm sure the position of my apartment (second floor, in a shaded area) had something to do with it, as my little phone sometimes -- though not at all as much -- had trouble.

It was a more heart-friendly phone to switch back to, but I was gradually reminded why I replaced it. Then it began getting worse. Oh -- the other thing it would do was constantly chime with it's little ding! noise it makes when you plug it in to charge. It would sit there on my table going ding!....ding....ding!....ding! -- sometimes for several minutes or more. Pulling out the charger cord and reinserting it would sometimes clear that error...but not always. And then it would stop.

I thought I could stretch that particular phone out farther, but its technological legs began getting more and more spindly. I knew I could go back to 007, but I really didn't feel like having the accompanying panic attacks again. I've been a "free agent" with AT&T for the last year or so, waiting for the right replacement phone to come along. I always intended to stay with them, but the standard free phones were unappealing, as were the ones that ended up around $40 or so / less with a rebate. I just didn't want another rinky-dink phone that would be, as someone put it, the "cell phone equivalent of a disposable camera".

Yes, if something happens to it, you can get a refurbished model -- but sometimes you still have to pay for that, too, so you end up getting the same crappy phone again with the same crappy problems. I know someone who had to replace theirs three times in one year to a tune of about $150 -- and that was in addition to the original amount he spent when he got it (a more expensive one with a rebate).

So, on Thursday, I woke up with a decision made in my head (well, I think actually I made it the day before, and began making it after a conversation with Andrew about different models). It was one I've been hemming and hawing about, balancing out want over need, etc. for quite some time now. Well, really ever since Andrew drank the Kool-Aid and crossed over to the Dark Side (shiiiiiiiiiii...poohhhhh...shiiiiiiiii...poohhh....), and probably for the last four or five months or so.

I spent my lunch break getting this (drum roll, please / fan fare taa daaaa!) (Andrew -- that's "tahhhh dahhhh", by the way):

I have an iPhone! It was a serious chunk o' change to plunk down at the moment, but I really just could not bear the idea of another two-year contract with a disposable cell phone. I looked at this as an investment my psychological well-being and happiness. I (heart) my new phone.

Then I went app-crazy. There are little software programs -- applications -- you can download. Some I got were games, some just plain goofy (nearly everything I got was free), some fun (ohhhh....like the military jet app where it has multiple pictures of all the jets the US Armed Forces use; classified first by branch, then by type and gives all the specs of each one and what it does); Google Earth; a planet and star tracker; the full dictionary.com and thesaurus it offers (American Heritage wanted $24.99 for only the dictionary!); NPR; PDXBus; Wickipedia; and, the best of all, one where your iPhone can sound like a lightsaber as you swing it around. Among other things, that is.

(That was -- ahem -- the first one I downloaded....so no I'm not a geek or anything kthxbye).

But the ones I really wanted (the others were just ones I happened across as I browsed the apps) were the little apps for budgeting, tracking your spending / cash. I realize it's kind of ironic that you have to buy a (spendy) phone to manage your budget...but it fit in just fine into mine. There's also one where I can log into my Chase account and do stuff from there, just like if I were on a "regular" computer. That means I no longer have to carry around my check register to mark off my debit card purchases, because the current info will be literally at my fingertips. I also found another (free!) app for a grocery list-maker. It has tens of thousands of items you can plug in, plus with the ability to write your own in and stick it in the correct category.

And...ha ha...the Family Guy app I downloaded had me in hysterics last night; there's little games, plus the ability to string together a bunch of scene clips, as well as watch ones that other people have strung together. I keep forgetting how much I really like that show.

The other thing about the phone I've been really wanting for awhile is the GPS feature; this phone also has a compass in it (Army Ranger / Navy Seal accurate, yo!) that's integrated with the map / GPS system so the map turns with you as you drive so you'll always be oriented in the right way.

You just have to make sure you, um, turn that feature on, 'cause then you like -- you know -- still have to drive up and down the street eighty billion times to figure out where the pesky little red dot is that's marking your destination.

Well -- you do if you're me, I guess.

It also has a little note pad and a voice recorder, both of which I really like. I've been working on a new book for the last few months, and I can either just speak a note about it or type it in using the QWERTY keyboard (which you use essentially by hunting and pecking with your thumbs...something that's taking some getting used to for me, as I'm not a hunt-and-pecker. I'm discovering I have to watch my thumbs as I type, not the screen as I habitually do).

Oh, and the weather feature is nice, too -- as is the traffic-showing feature of the map. The map is also the same thing you can pull up in Google Maps, so I can get directions and have a satellite image of the surroundings to follow. Makes, say -- finding a landmark easy to look for.

I'm very happy with this purchase. No buyer's remorse at all. I even found an alarm clock app I like so I can get rid of my stupid, clunky LCD clock that has the world's weakest radio tuner in it. Instead of music I wake up to mostly crackling static. I just have to use my wall charger for my phone at night...which is okay. Besides -- that puts my phone in my room, whereas before, it charged out in my living room. If anyone called in the middle of the night (nobody ever has, but you never know), I wouldn't know until the morning.

Oh -- my garden. Well -- with the crazy hot, cool, warm, cold, warm, HOTTER THAN A FRYING PAN, back to cool weather...things went kaput. Some flowers did just fine, others not so much. Both attempts at beans went south. The tomato and bell pepper plant kept putting out flowers, which then got fried. My jasmine and plants loved the weather; the bamboo, however -- in one pot at least -- sorta didn't really like it.

I discovered that it's the radiant heat coming up from the blacktop and the cars that singed everything. Though during that run of terribly hot days, it got to be an oven out there. One day I came home and it was 115 degrees out on my terrace. Bleah.

The pepper and tomato plants are putting out decent flowers now; it's a good thing we have long, warm falls. This may be a year of failure. Oh well.

So -- yes. As I've pretty much decided on a MacBook next spring (Holy Cats it's a slick thing; Andrew has one and what sold me was the battery life on them -- many hours, even with browsing), I'm now officially another minion of Steve Jobs.

I wonder if there's an app for that?

-- H

P.S. The 3G(how fast the phone browses / downloads from the Internet) is smokin' fast!

Interspersing Creativity

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Thu, 21 May 2009 02:35:00 +0000

It was brought to my attention today by my good friend Karen that I needed to put pictures or videos or "something" in my text to break it up. Apparently my blogs are long...and need to be "broken up."

OK. I'm down with that -- as they'd say in the hip circles. Yo.

"What should I put in?" I asked.

"I don't know," Karen said. "Like a picture of a plant or something. Anything."

I suggested some stop action pictures of me chasing off squirrels, and she said that would work, too. Anything to break up the long passages.

All righty. I can handle that -- plus it allows me to be more creative. And so I offer you these.

I can't give you a filmstrip or video of me chasing of A. B. Squirrel, but I can give you this in its stead:

It was the best I could come up with at the moment.

I do have some photos to put in of my garden, but, at the moment, I'm too lazy to get up and attach my camera to my laptop...I will do so soon, I promise. Plus I may just wait to get things a bit more robust out there...or perhaps some pictures to show progress would be wanted.

And since I don't have -- well I do have...I just don't want to get up -- a picture of my terrace to share, I give you this, something that sums up my feelings exactly of always trying to eat right...sometimes I'm with this guy, wanting to just have junk to eat. But, then...I suppose my waistline wouldn't really appreciate that all that much.

I totally agree with him. I'd much rather have cookies. Especially chocolate fudge chocolate chip cookies. Dark chocolate. Mmm...chocolate. (Sorry, Jane!)

Why...in taking Karen's advice (and no, I am not making fun with this blog -- I actually really do like the idea of putting in more pictures and videos!) I could be informative, a la Monty Python, and teach you how to recognize trees at great distances. And so I present to you --

THE LARRRCH!

Though...I supposed that's more of a near distance.

Anyhoo. I will see about "interspersing" some "creativity" throughout my blogs more often; I agree that it does make it a bit more interesting. I won't go so far as to start programming in Java scripts or Flash. At least -- not yet. Though I do know my brother, Andrew, is somewhat anti-Flash. Or perhaps even very much so. I know it, at one time, drove him crazy. May still.

Though that wasn't what drove him crazy in the first place. Having known him since I was eight (oh, those eight wonderful years of being an only child...an only child....*sigh*) , I can attest there's long been that personality trait.

And, yes, Andrew -- I suppose it takes one to know one.

Birds of a feather and all that!

(Though I'm sure Andrew would rather have it be opposites attracting...he still swears he's adopted. To that -- my father once said, "Okay -- either you're adopted and Heather's your sisiter, or you're my son." Andrew looked rather cornered at that choice. Ha!)

So...I will see about how I can spruce up my entries. I do enjoy the creative writing side of it, but I think I can also add in some illustrations....

I do suppose this way I can also share funny pictures I come across -- like this one:

And so, to appease Karen -- I now give you a picture of "a plant or something":

Later, all.

-- H

P.S. Was this sort of what you were thinking, Karen -- ?

Good Morning! Good Morning! Good Morninggg-ah!

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Sat, 16 May 2009 14:38:00 +0000

Thank you, Beatles! Or, as said in Help!, Bee-ah-tles.

Right now I'm out on my "lanai" as my mother (and my dad, too) love to call my terrace. Birds are singing, and there's a rather jovial goldfinch announcing to all within earshot that he's arrived. It's funny to watch the birds at my feeder -- they each have their own personalities, as individuals and as species. The finches are rambunctious, but they seem to have ettiquette, while the chickadees are very polite; they will sit on a branch patiently and wait for whoever it is that's feeding to finish, and then they'll flutter up and munch away.

There is one kind of bird, however (I get the feeling it's this one little fellow, as others that look like him don't do this) who, when he (I suppose it could be a "she") lands he flicks the seeds about in a flailing kind of way with his beak. You can hear the seeds flying off and pattering down on the barbeque cover and the pavement. He really makes a mess.

I've also watched an unusually-polite scrub jay figure out how to eat from my suet feeder (I have two feeders -- a suet and a loose seed one). Normally scrub jays squawk at you in an attempt to elbow in on your property, given it's theirs, after all! But this one has never done that consistently; in fact, none of the scrub jays around here really do that. No, I take that back -- there were some over by my old apartment that did, but the ones over here seem to be of a different breed...so to speak!

I watched him, when I was home, over a period of several days trying to figure out how to first get to the loose seed feeder; he would usually just eat the loose seeds on the ground, but he would often pause and eye the feeders intently -- then try to eat from them. At first he'd try to flap his wings really fast and mimic a hummingbird so he could stay in one place. That didn't work all that well, of course.

He tried all sorts of things -- sitting on the wrought iron hook from which the feeders hung and then bend down -- but that was clearly awkward as well. Eventually, he learned that he could grasp the wire for the loose seed feeder with his feet and, while hanging perpendicular to it, bend up and munch from the feeder. Then, he discovered that he could also hold onto the criss-cross of thin metal pieces that create a kind of square latticework and eat from it that way.

So far, there's been no intimidation from him; he seems to neither care nor notice that other birds use it, or when I'm out there.

This past winter, I watched a crow try to figure out how to eat from that same suet feeder. He landed on a very "bendy" branch of the tree nearest it, and, after a few attempts and calculations, he figured out exactly where to stand on the branch, how wide his feet needed to be and what to do with his wings so that he could make the branch start boiging back and forth with momentum, so that he could grab a bite to eat from the suet feeder each time he got near it.

Smart little critters.

I haven't had as manny hummingbirds as of late, but when I do, I've seen another species coming around called Rufous. They look similar to the Anna's Hummingbird that was hanging around so much last year (and during that awful, awful storm). This little Rufous that comes around is quite curious; he loves to zip in, take a sip from each of the little "flowers" on the feeder several times, then he zips up to my terrace door and peers in -- first up high, then down towards a corner, then to the center, then over a bit, afterwhich he'll zip up to the bird feeders and examine those (you never know where some tasty nectar might be!) -- and then off he'll go.

The first few times I saw him flit up to the glass door, I was worried he'd fly into it, and, not wanting a dead hummingbird on my conscience, I found myself saying aloud, "No, birdie, no!" But he seemd to know what he was doing (his keen eyesight and all that), and would then fly off. (Last summer, I had on a brightly-patterened dress for work and, as I stood on the other side of my screen door and brushed my teeth while looking out, a little hummingbird surprised me by zooming up to the door -- their wings are really loud! -- clearly examining my dress with great interest -- and then, realizing he couldn't get in, or that it wasn't actually flowers -- off he went.)

They like red, and two of my windchimes have a mahogany-colored piece of wood hanging down as the wind-catcher that makes them chime; I'll watch a hummingbird sometimes examine the reddish wood with curiosity -- and then try to take a taste from it.

I did also have a squirrel I finally got to stop coming up on my terrace. I like squirrels, don't get me wrong. (Although we seem to have the "Geico Squirrels" here as well -- you know, the ones that purposely and gleefully dash out in front of your car to try to make you careen off course and crash). I did have a cute red squirrel coming around who was very polite; he'd (or she, but I'm just going to say "he") nose around without digging and would eat some of the loose seed I used to have in a pottery dish that goes under plants.

He disappeared after awhile, I believe chased off by the squirrel I named A.B. (short for Arrogant B-----d), so named because he would not only nose around in my plants, but dig things up, and one day when I was home sick, I watched him sit and gorge himself for forty minutes on the loose seed. I was worried he'd dig up my then-newly-planted sugar snap peas and my lettuce seets, so I covered them with bubble wrap in a way so that it was tight enough so he couldn't get under it, but loose enough so that air could flow.

I came home from lunch one day to find three puddles of what I realized was squirrel pee in indentations on the top of the plastic.

Eventually, I figured out that if I moved my BBQ way over to the left so that my extra can of gas was flush against the gas can attached to the grill, then shoved my planter with the lettuce flush against the can (thus making a kind of "Γ" shape) he couldn't jump from the tree onto my terrace.

I miss the red squirrel; I remember thinking he had a very amused, bright kind of cleverness in his eyes -- like he saw getting to my terrace as a challenge, and that he was the kind of fellow who, if he were a person, liked to play well-planned, but still "polite", practical jokes on people -- or at least would have an arsenal of really good jokes and terribly bad, stinky puns that would leave you groaning in both pain and laughter.

The gray squirrel just had this big-gallooty, lead-footed, "Mine for the takin', if yer stupid enough to put it out," kind of look in his eye. I swear if he'd actually laughed, it would have been somewhat like, "Huyuck-huyuck-huhyuck!"

It was like having Chip and Dale scurrying around out there; one quite smart, the other rather far over to the not-so-smart end of intelligence.

(Did I mention my jamsime smells sublime?)

I think next year I may look into getting a gardenia plant (oh, stop your laughing, Dad! You won't need that machete just yet. You will when I decide to plant the jungle vines for privacy, however) as they apparently like the same kind of sunshine that the jasmine plants do.

I stopped in at Cornell Farms again yesterday to grab two more things, and I really spent some time loooking at all of the herbs they have -- they have a wonderful selection; I picked up what I thought was rosemary, but then, with the scent, I realized it wasn't. I looked at the tag and saw it was yellow curry. I think next year I'm going to go there for all my Herbal Needs and get some really interesting things, in addition to the "standard" things like basil, thyme, rosemary, sage.

And what I can't use up, I can just give away. That was my plan, anyway, with my "vegertababbles" as my dad's called them in jest.

Hmm...looking at my two little bamboo plants in the pottery pots, I think I'm going to need to split them again and repot them. If I don't, they'll break the pots, and I'd rather not have that happen. Perhaps I will have to order that panda my dad keeps asking about. Or the wallaby.

The thing is it's a reall pain in the ol' gluteous maximus to do so; you can't just split them like you would any other plant -- you have to saw them apart. I have a saw, and I think I know how to do it, but, bleah.

(Oh, speak of the devil! Here's A.B;. right now! He found a new way onto my terrace! The twerp! Hmm...perhaps I shall have to go to Home Depot and see if they have some kind of ... something I can use to block off the space between the concrete and the railing.)

It's promising to be an absolutely gorgeous day and weekend; I'm going over to my dad's house for dinner tonight and to see my grandmother, and it's always nice to sit out on his deck and talk and have a beer or two.

(Oh, no mourning doves as of late, but the other morning they did wake me up at 4:57 in the morning! And no Kermit since that last night of energetic ribbiting).

OK -- I need to go get something to eat. A cup of coffee can only carry you so far in the morning.

-- H

Le Garden

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Tue, 12 May 2009 22:41:00 +0000

Well...it's finally done (I think...). I may put in a few more herbs, like rosemary, if the "sproutlets" I bought at the nursery don't multiply.

I did start some herbs from seeds quite some time ago, but some haven't bothered to wake up and perform as needed, while others are just now peeking out, and some are starting to roll along. But at the pace they're going, I wouldn't have had anything until late summer.

I've been going to a nursery called Cornell Farms that's near my home; it's a beautiful, fun place to go. They have lots and lots and lots of everything your little heart could think to plant (well...except maybe for skunk cabbage or crab grass -- if you were the kind of person that wanted to have that in your yard!), and all of the people there are friendly and clearly know what they're doing.

I went to go get my tomato and bell pepper plant (the guy who helped me was very knowledgeable, and I got great advice for the care of all my "sprootlets" as my dad and I call them).

I now have out there:

--Walla Walla Sweet Onions (I found a bound bunch to plant at Cornell Farms, and thought that would be fun, as it said you could plant them closely and get "salad-sized" onions)
-- Two different kinds of leeks
-- Several different kinds of lettuce
-- Spinach
-- Sugar Snap peas (planted from seeds; they exploded with a two inch growth inside a week or so after planting!)
-- Bell Peppers
-- Tomatoes
-- Strawberries
-- Chard (the guy at Cornell Farms talked me into it, and the recipes I've seen sound good; I've never had it, as far as I know. But I like new foods, and with my wide taste, I can't see why I wouldn't like it)
-- Cuban Oregano
-- Greek Oregano
-- Thyme
-- Oregano Thyme (it's quite tasty and has a spiciness to it)
-- Cuban Basil (sweeter taste, but I have more Thai and Italian basil growing in my starter pots)
-- Two different kinds of sage
-- Parsley
-- Sweet Marjoram
-- Rosemary
-- Lavender
-- Tarragon
-- Mint
-- Pineapple Mint (pretty yellow and green leaves, and it does have a pineapple-y taste)

I'd only planned to just get the bell pepper plant and the tomato plant, but I got...inspired...but the amazing variety that was at the nursery; I already had some of the herbs, but there's a bigger variety at Cornell Farms than at Fred Meyer, so I decided to...augment my choices. I decided to get two jasmine plants as well to replace the ones that went in the storm we had; turns out I wasn't watering them correctly and, despite what the man told me at the other nursery where I bought them, I couldn't do two in a pot to have four...so I just got two, and put them each in one pot. I'm also going to be much better about watering them correctly (less often).

I also got a pretty jade plant for my little table that's next to my chair, a splurge of an addition to my pots of geraniums, petunias and marigolds.

I didn't plant ALL of that in one day, of course; Saturday was the last round of about 6 weeks of planting (on weekends).

It sounds like there's a lot out there (well...there is), but it's not crowded. The lettuces, onions, leeks and peas got planted in long planter boxes that sit on the terrace floor, flush with the railing; the herbs are in flowerpots; and the strawberries are in a pot that sits on my railing (as do the planters where I have my flowers).

My dad keeps asking me if he needs to bring over a machete when he visits, and I've told him no...my invisible pandas are doing just fine, especially in keeping my bamboo in check. And if that doesn't work, I could always do what some people are doing in England: buy a wallaby to keep things trim (yes, wallabies).

It's really nice out out there now, and it will be even like, tewtally awesomer in the summer as my dad came over and hung two rolling shades I bought to block out the rather intense afternoon sunshine that was blazing in like a mini-kiln. My apartment now faces South, so it would get the sunshine all...after...noon. It would be okay out there with a fan, but it was still hard when the sun is blazing against your left cheek and arm, giving you rather lopsided tan.

This way I can also pull them down during the day (they're set back enough so that they unroll behind the railing planters) and keep my apartment from getting warm. I tried closing my deck doors (with the curtains closed and without), but my apartment just got stuffy. So I tried opening the deck doors, but pulling the curtains closed and it seemed to get even stuffier.

So the answer became shades.

Next up will be hanging my cute strings of the cut-metal pineapple lights, then setting up my water fountains (small). It sounds like you might have to suck in your gut and walk down the terrace on your tiptoes, but it's quite wide, and it all fits nicely.

We've also seemed to become a wildlife conservatory; both Saturday morning and this morning I was awakened at 5:17 (yes, that time exactly) by a pair of mourning doves who have moved into the plum tree that's right by my bedroom door (they also like to sit on the branches of the locust tree right out side of my bedroom door; I've seen them there in the evening).

It's a lovely, sweet sound -- but it's still five friggin' seventeen in the morning!!!

Sheesh.

On Saturday evening a frog began ribbeting, kind of tentatively in a ribbit-ribbit-ribbit (pause) ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit (pause pause pause................................pause pause pause) ribbit-ribbit-ribbit (pause) ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit pattern all night and into the morning (I know this because I woke up needing to use the bathroom around 4 am or so on Sunday and he was still going).

Then, Sunday evening, he really got into a groove; instead of the lazy-ish way he'd been going the night before, it became ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit (pause) ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit (pause) ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit (pause) ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit-ribbit (pause) ---

(The pause seemed to be just long enough for him to catch his breath).

All. Night. Long.

He was silent last night (too cool, I think). He apparently lives somewhere in the bushes on the other side of the pool, so the two apartment houses apparently create a nice amphitheater effect.

Double sheesh!

Damn nature.

Hee hee.

But...I can say that's far more preferable than the "wake up call" I had the previous Saturday at about 4:20 am.

I was awakened by sirens -- I sometimes am, given that there's a firestation right down the road from me, and they often wail down this street to get to Cedar Hills Boulevard, as it's the fastest route to it. I began thinking, Gee they're getting awfully close.... But when I've had that thought before, they've usually zipped right past.

But as I lay there, getting less groggy, the thought returned, with an additional, "...that's...REALLY close...!" And then my thought was, "Holy [cow], they're right under my window!!!" It was right at that moment I smelled smoke.

I popped out of bed like someone had lit a fire under me. So to speak.

My first thought was, "Is it my place?!" But then I realized no, of course not; if it were, I'd have been awake a lot earlier and faster by my own smoke alarm going off. Then I got the brilliant idea to share the excitement with my dad, as he's frequently awake at that hour. Turns out that's the one time he was actually sound asleep (sorry, Dad!)

I noticed people were clustering under the cover by the office door, so I realized it was like being in a dorm -- everyone had to evacuate until they could go back in. So I pulled out my earplugs (I always sleep with them in, so that means the doves were loud enough to wake me up through them!) and that was when I heard the hallway alarms going.

I noticed it was cool, so I pulled on my slippers and a sweatshirt over the large t-shirt I'd worn to bed...but when I got to my door I thought, "Oh. Pants. Pants would be good -- !" In my sleep-addled brain state, I'd completely missed the fact my legs were bare, despite pulling on slippers and a sweatshirt. So, after making myself decent, I went down with everybody else.

We were let back in after about 20 minutes or so. There were three trucks that came -- a water truck, a "regular" one and a ladder truck -- and at one point when four firemen walked past, it was like watching a children's book coming to life:

This fireman is carrying an extinguisher.
This fireman is carrying a fire ax.
This fireman is carrying a pick.
This fireman is carrying a large exhaust fan to pump out the smoke.

At that point a curious / sort of worried murmur of, "Uh oh!" rippled through the crowd; I knew it couldn't be too bad, given no flames were licking the sky and we hadn't been evacuated to the park that's a half a mile away.

I went around to the back of the building (I'd heard the fire had been on the other side of the building and down a floor) and discovered the damage: the wooden wall between the two terraces was fully burned away, the wall where the door was had been fully scorched, and the ceiling had been whacked away to reveal insulation -- which was also strewn around the ground below. There wasn't a BBQ, so my thought was a cigarette that had somehow started it (this was the same thought the manager had when I asked her when I turned in my rent check).

Not quite the blazing experience Andrew witnessed a few months ago when the top level of a house two lots down from him went the way of a sacrifice to the Fire Gods. From what I hear, it was pretty spectacular.

So...if I had to choose between doves and a frog and sirens ushering in the portent of possible doom -- I'll take the doves and the frog.

And...that's all she wrote for now!

-- H

My Green Thumb Is Getting Itchy

noreply@blogger.com (Heather Self) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 03:06:00 +0000

Heather, Heather who wants sunny weather
How will your garden grow?
With onions and peas and herbs that will please
And lettuces all in a row

It's aaallllmost time to begin my planting for the summer...but not quite. It's still cool, damp and pewtery out there, with temperatures hovering in the low fifties as the day grows into the afternoon. Thankfully it's not blizzard weather or flooding as other parts of the country is having, but when April rolls around, I start feeling quite ready for the weather to roll into true Spring weather, and then into Summer.

Hopefully it's not going to be like last April, which was awful. It was the coldest, darkest and dampest one we'd had in a long, long time; at one point, I came home so starving for light I turned on every single bulb in my apartment. Due to that possibility, I'm really glad I'm in this new apartment with the big glass doors and the Southern light. It's been very bright in here all winter and less "cave-like" as Jane said.

When the weather finally rolled into the radar blip of a summer, it was well into August; we had decent-ish weather for the "Summertime", but it was more like a prolonged Spring. Bleah. But I did get a great idea for the bit of Summer weather we did have after I moved into my new place that I could grow veggies and herbs in addition to my geraniums.

Last spring I lost my first round of geraniums (they usually did fine, even in my shadier apartment), and the second one was only able to limp along half-heartedly. But when I brought the planters over here, the geraniums and chrysanthemums exploded happily, and continued to bloom with great enthusiasm right up to the day the blizzard blew in.

Needless to say...they weren't blooming any more after that. Nor was anything else. My palm tree had snapped in half and my jasmine plants wilted into a dejected version of their more robust selves. I did bring them in, finally, but three have clearly died, and one keeps pushing out little shoots...which then melt into little brown dead crispy versions of what they'd been.

I have a feeling that one is on its way to the happy blooming grounds, too.

I did find that I had one survivor of the blizzard and freeze. When I clipped back the moldy, mushy 1950's sci-fi monster-like stems of what had been my geraniums, I discovered a tiny little green shoot. I thought at first it was a robust geranium that had weathered the weather, so to speak, but as it grew I realized it was one of my chrysanthemums.

I was going to replace the jasmine, but I think I'm going to wait until next year to do that, and put in geraniums and other plants in the pots for this season. I have other things I want to try this year.

After work tonight, I went to Fred Meyer and bought seeds, planters, soil, and all the things I need to get my little garden going. I spent about 20 minutes chatting with a co-worker today about what we wanted to plant, and it was too much to bear...so I went to Fred Meyer to at least get the tools.

I likely got more soil than I'll need (three bags, in addition to the one and a half I already have), but it always seems like you never have enough when you start. 1/3 of the way through your project, you discover you're running short...so you run to the store to get another bag. But then another 1/3 of the way through, you realize you're still running short. Argh.

I knew right away last summer when I moved in I wanted to plant tomatoes, as the lovely Southern exposure and bright sun was perfect for it, but as I talked with friends, I realized I wanted to try more. Tomatoes won't go in for at least another 6 weeks, but I think I can start a few other things soon.

In addition to the tomatoes, I'm also going to plant bell peppers, sugar snap peas (I even have a nice trellis for them!), green onions and an assortment of lettuce. Kati (my friend at work) said she'd had good luck with lettuce all summer, even in warm(er) weather, despite the fact the packet says "cooler weather". I got a "gourmet blend" -- Buttercrunch, Grand Rapids, and Red Sails, Parris Island Romaine. It says they take 40-70 days to mature, and now would be a good time to get them going. Even if they don't last through the summer, I'll at least have some nice, fresh lettuce from a garden until I can't grow them any longer. I do know I can also replant in the fall.

I also decided to plant some herbs. I got a packet of lavender, sage, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme (queue Simon and Garfunkel), sweet marjoram, and parsley. I opted not to get basil, as it tends to get rangy really fast. I love fresh basil, but I can't use it up that fast. Or...maybe I'll try later. Hmm...now that I think about it, maybe I will just do it. I can always take in my "extras" to work. And / or share with family.

I thought about doing cucumbers, but the article I read online said to make sure that "you have at least 7 feet of area to grow"...no thanks. A close cousin, or perhaps step-sibling to summer squash and zucchini. Around late July or August, there's usually a large pile of them, free for the taking, on the table in the office kitchen. I once read -- perhaps it was Dave Berry -- who said that by late summer, people end up dropping bags of the squash and zucchini on neighbor's doorsteps, ringing the doorbell -- then running away. Not that such a thing would help; you'd likely finish up with your dropping off only to come home and find a bag on your own doorstep.

I'm just thrilled to actually grow things out there. I'm anxious to get things started, and some of the herbs and such say you can begin planting in April...but I think I'm going to wait a few more weeks. The lettuce I can do now, I think. I wanted to do things like this at my old apartment, but I had neither the space nor the light.

Oh, and I have some nice garden twine for my rangier plants as they grow, spikes to fortify the tomato cage and plastic "T" labels to let me know what's what for the herbs. I can start those indoors now, so I think I might do that this weekend. Get the itch out of my green thumb.

And Oh #2 -- I'm also going to do hanging cherry tomatoes from a basket, then plant geraniums on top to keep the soil moist and covered. I'm so excited! My father said with all I have going out there, I'll be nice and shady out there. Ha!

I haven't gotten to have fresh veggies from a garden (other than from a farmer's market) in years and years and years (or, at least that's what it feels like). Well, there's been the tomatoes a co-worker has brought in...but it's not the same. When I was little, I used to have my own little veggie garden outside, and I remember growing radishes, carrots, and a few other things. I really liked planting the seeds, tending to them, watching them peek out from the soil -- then grow into adulthood. And they were super tasty.

I did spend more than I thought I might to night...but not too much. And if the garden does well, then I'll get the money back through the food. Plus it's not like I have to buy new planters and such every single year.

And...then when this all gets started and going, I'm planning on finally having a housewarming shindig. I just didn't have the wherewithal after I moved and got settled (I'm still settling in with reorganizing, re-reorganizing, getting things down into the storage unit I finally was able to rent) to have one. Once things get growing and pretty and warm out there again, then I'll send out the invitations.

Here's to tasty fresh veggies all summer long!